


Cell

by Tom_Tomorrow



Category: NCIS
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bishop Angst, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Tony, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Tony Angst, Torture, protective Gibbs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 73,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4033126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tom_Tomorrow/pseuds/Tom_Tomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two of NCIS's vital team members have been captured and tortured for vital information that can potentially compromise the United States's national security. Weeks have passed and they have received radio silence from the rescue team and the strain is getting to them, mentally and physically. Can they survive long enough until the rest of Team Gibbs is able to rescue them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This cell was by no means made for comfort. In all likelihood, it was probably specifically designed for the opposite. First, it was small. Tiny even. When first thrown in here, Tony had spent days walking the perimeter, examining the situation. The cell seemed to be about twelve feet long and ten feet wide, much like the cells in the American prison system. The walls were made from some kind of rock. If he’d bothered paying attention in seventh grade geology class, he probably could have named the kind. Regardless, they were impenetrable. The lack of tools and his bloodied fingernails proved that in a heartbeat.   The air was stale and decrepit. Dust particles were constantly visible as they glinted lazily in golden hue of the only source of sunlight that was given to them, a window with reinforced steel bars. These specks seemed to leach any remaining moisture that had gathered in the atmosphere, and due to poor ventilation, the dust had no way to exit. It ended up acting as a poor excuse for a cushion of the cement ground underneath. The heat fluctuated dramatically throughout the day, part due to poor ventilation, part due to the inconstant temperatures of their location.  They were given nothing to accommodate or alleviate their discomfort. No blankets. No mattress. No change of clothes other than the ones they’d had on their backs when they were captured. And all though the remnants were practically in tatters now, Tony felt foolishly gracious for having them. They were, after all, one of the only things that kept on connecting him with the outside world.

 

 Tony groaned as he pried his eyes open, blinkingly shaking away the dried, crusty dirt and grime and licked his chapped, bloody lips in some half assed effort to retain some moisture. His eyes burned from his swollen black eye and his left arm had fallen asleep after the most recent round of beatings left him unconscious on his side. Tony briefly considered shifting into an upright position, but that would only serve to aggravate the other injuries accumulated from his days in captivity. The ‘shortage’ of painkillers allowed each and every injury to remain as acute and tender as the day it was dispensed. It had become easier to count what didn’t hurt than what did.  The onset of a migraine had begun to make itself belligerently known as Tony tried to gather his nerves.  Somewhere in the back of his head, he vaguely remembered the captors kicking him repeatedly in the face.  No wonder he felt like shit. The dried blood that caked the left side of his face, audibly cracked as he stretched is jaw tentatively. Ouch. He weakly sucked in some air to clear his head but only ended up drawing in a torrent of dirt that had accumulated on the ground. The coughing fit that soon followed sent piercing pains across his chest. Probably a result of the bruised, if not broken ribs. At some point he’d given up on categorizing the level of pain. Once it all fused together, it just wasn’t worth it anymore.  Time for Plan B.   

 

Tony’s body lit on fire as he brought his right arm to the side and forced himself into a sitting position. Sweat trickled down his face as his migraine shot past level eleven. Tony ground his teeth together hard enough to draw blood, yet it was nothing compared to the agony rippling up and down his spine. If he still had the tears left in him to cry, he would have. All that kind of manly dignity had left him days, if not weeks ago. It took several moments for the pain to subside enough for him to pry his eyes open once more. Only to be left with a different type of pain. The kind that left no physical scars, but still left a dull ache in is heart. The kind that came from watching the ones you felt obligated to protect, but failed miserably. The kind that radiated from Tony as he faced his only other companion in this dusty, sorry excuse for a cell. Ellie Bishop.

 

The former NSA analyst turned probationary agent, no longer resembled the bright and bubbly young woman that had jumped for the opportunity in the NCIS world. During the first few days, Bishop had insisted that they could escape, after analyzing the situation with her NSA skills. Then she heavily relied on the fact that the rest of “Team Gibbs” would find and rescue them. Now Bishop seemed utterly defeated as she curled in a somewhat fetal position in the corner of the room. They’d beaten her badly. The exact details of how she’d gotten her injuries escaped him. Their captors had dragged her out of the room each time, while they generally ignored her when they took their turns on him. Bishop never talked about it. She never spoke much at all really.  Not after the first few days. Her frail form was littered cuts and bruises. The wounds were never to deep; just enough to leave their mark, but Tony feared the dangerous men would escalate. They certainly had with him. 

 

It was Bishop’s eyes that gave Tony his unsettling feeling. That odd pain. The spark had left her eyes, now replaced with a hooded, glassy gaze. She generally ignored him now, instead folding into herself and staring fixated on the door. The only time her eyes would shift from the morose, glossy gaze was when these doors opened. Of course, they only exhibited fear. Tony knew she was counting down the seconds until the captors barged in again. Just waiting for the captors to come up with some new twisted form of making them talk.  The captors were looking for information. They were aiming to gather Intel on the NCIS system, harness strategic mission data from the NSA, and cultivate agent and personnel data with extreme precision. All of this contributed to some mass terrorism act that they no doubted planned to execute in the future.

 

At first Tony thought they had gotten the wrong people. Although Team Gibbs was renown, if not infamous, within the organization and had some degree of a close relationship with its head,  ‘Special Agent’ Anthony Dinozzo and ‘Probationary Agent’ Eleanor Bishop were not part of the vital information stream. Not to say he was clueless, Tony did have a certain awareness of how NCIS operated. Although Bishop never said anything, Tony eventually realized she had to have at least some degree of information concerning the NSA’s actions, operations, and tactics. And captors as sophisticated as these had to know she held a position of importance within the agency. They had to know she had information and they were relentless in trying to get the information out of her.  As far as he knew Bishop hadn’t said anything yet. They were both obligated under the United States Constitution, judicial oath, and government law not to say a single word.

 

“It kind of reminds of that movie, the one where the pilot is shot down and taken prisoner by the enemy. And he must fight valiantly to protect himself and American freedom-“ Tony mused. Anything to take his mind of the pain.

 

“Except we’re not pilots. We’re not in Laos. And we’re not in the movie Rescue Dawn.” Bishop interrupted dryly as she shifted her hollow gaze towards him. Her voice was hoarse. And it was obvious why, but Dinozzo knew she wouldn’t talk about it so he deflected.

 

“How would you even know about that movie? Aren’t you a little young?” Tony teased.

 

“It came out in 2006.” She said with a tilt of annoyance. “Photographic memory remember?”

 

Tony felt a twinge of sympathy for Bishop. Her somewhat endearing, mostly annoying trait of being able to remember everything she’d ever done with a correlated food would undoubtedly come back to haunt her later. If they ever got out of this, she’d be associating bread and water with this forever. He chewed the inside of his bloodied mouth as they lapsed back into silence. Dinozzo rested his head against the wall as the migraine grew worse, but the pain steadily through worse. How was that even possible?

 

It had been fifteen days stuck in the hellhole. Fifteen days of food deprivation. Fifteen days of torture. Fifteen days of Gibbs and Mcgoo not coming for them. At this point the terrorists had to be getting antsy. It had been two weeks and they weren’t getting information from them. They had already started upping the ante.

The temporary reprieve was interrupted by a fierce coughing attack. Bishop shivered violently in the corner from the sudden onslaught.

 

“Are you okay?” Tony asked. He got no response from the shivering probationary agent.  

 

“Bishop. What did they do to you?” He repeated.

 

“I’m okay.” She softly rasped, not even looking in his direction. Tony immediately saw through her attempt to deflect.

 

“What?” Tony asked incredulously.

 

“I’m okay.” Bishop repeated louder.

 

“No you’re not.” Tony said.

 

“I said I was okay.” Bishop’s voice turned steely and she titled her head to focus on him.

 

No you’re not.” Tony said. 

 

“Yes. I am Tony.” Bishop repeated once more. Her voice wavered as she said it.

 

“No you’re not. You aren’t allowed to say you’re okay. And don’t say you are again. Have you seen yourself Bishop! You look like Rocky after his fight with Apollo Creed!” Tony’s voice rose with incredulousness.

 

“You’re not any prize winner yourself.” Bishop deadpanned.

 

“The difference is you’ve seen the shit get beaten out of me! They drag you out of this room every single time! I have no clue what they’re doing to you! But you come in with these gashes and these bruises and these cuts. And then you don’t give any explanation. And you don’t talk to me for hours. For all I know you’re- you’re- they’re” Tony exclaimed, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. All of a sudden, Tony deflated. Bishop’s scandalized look gave him more than enough reason to shut up. His surge of adrenaline dissipated rapidly and thick, awkward silence replaced it. A few tense moments passed before anyone said anything again.

 

“I didn’t say anything.” Bishop muttered petulantly.

 

 

“Y-you don’t have to protect me. I can handle myself” She muttered.

 

“No. You can’t. You technically aren’t even an agent yet. You’re a desk jockey. You can crunch all the numbers you want, but it’s my job to protect you. It’s called Senior Special Agent for a reason probie…” Tony told her. He made to move closer to her, but he stopped when she flinched away.

 

“What did they do to you Bishop?” he asked again softly as he could muster.

 

“I- They-” she began nervously, but instantly clammed up when the familiar sound of a keypad numbers being punched in. Tony cursed silently and steeled himself for what was to come.

 

The cell door flew open, revealing the face of the man Tony had come to dread in the last few weeks.

 

“Still not up to talking?” their captor asked cynically with a heavy Hispanic accent. “Let’s see what we can do about that.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

As much as it distressed him to do so, Tony shifted his battered form forwards and set his shoulders back, subtly leaning in front of Bishop, who had essentially folded back into herself. Her curled form shivered violently, even more so than before, as she bit nervously on her nails and kept her eyes trained on the floor, avoiding any eye contact with the men who now crowded the room. It seemed as if she was trying to disappear into the floor and that was a game plan he admittedly envied. But a cursory glance over the bruises and cuts that covered her skin and disappeared into her ripped, plaid shirt, reminded Tony he had made a promise to protect her and he had done a shitty job of it so far. So he tried to make himself seem larger by sitting up straighter. Forcing his eyes to become more alert. So he seemed less weak. Less defeated. Less like he came out of the losing side of a prizefight. Even if that strategy had not worked then and it almost certainly would not now.

The man that stood before them was ruthless. He had absolutely no reservations with inflicting pain. A fact he’d stated several times and had proved relentlessly over and over again. On their first day of confinement, he’d told Bishop and Dinozzo that his name was Alakoso and that they were to refer to him as so. And even though Tony was sure that was not his real name, saying anything different would result in punishment and Alakoso took punishment very seriously. Six feet of muscle bulging formidably under scarred brown skin and an apparent lack of sympathy for anything with a heartbeat made him right for this ‘job’. In addition to them, Alakoso asserted degree of dominance over the other guards whose faces changed as rapidly as the day did. In the earlier days, Tony often found himself wondering, if he was more than just the torture technician and perhaps had a significant leadership role. Now, he realized it didn’t matter because the implications of each were just as bad and there was no negotiating with either.

Alakoso’s eyes were beady and cold as he scrutinized the two agents. Two other men Tony had never seen before stood rigidly in the doorway with AK47s in hand further crowding the small cell. Their eyes stared straight ahead with military like aptitude, but neither could hide the hungry looks they wore on their faces. Like ravenous sharks waiting for their next meal to cross their path. Initially, two guards would show up with Alakoso as a deterrence strategy, to prevent Bishop and Dinozzo of thinking of escape. But as they grew weaker, Tony was sure they showed up for the shits and giggles of watching federal agents get the crap get beaten out of them.

“Stand up. Both of you.” Alakoso sneered. His tone was icy, and left no room for doubts as to his willingness to prove to him just how capable he would be if they dared disobeyed. Having learned from experience, Tony quickly staggered to his feet, swaying with nausea as he pulled the quivering Bishop up with him. Tony briefly saw stars as his migraine flared up in protest, but he managed to remain upright. He kept his eyes transfixed on the ground as Alakoso stalked towards them slowly, almost predatory, like predator approaching its prey. He circled the battered duo once, a ritual he had consistently done since their capture, before the dark soles of his military combat boots stopped in front of Tony. A stony silence stretched uncomfortably when no further movement was made. Only the sound of their labored breathing echoed in the room. 

Several tense moments passed, but Tony refused to let his guard down. Tony desperately willed his heartbeat to slow down and for his body to stop trembling. He knew Alakoso was looking for a crack in the façade. Alakaso would act as soon as he saw a sliver of weakness and when he did it would not be pretty. The man roughly grabbed Dinozzo’s chin, dragging him forward as he forced Tony to look him in the eyes. They were cold and unsympathetic, reminiscent of the pain that was to come. Alakoso jerked Dinozzo’s head sharply to the left and then again to the right, as if he were a doctor doing an examination. Tony stifled a groan as the pressure aggravated his sore jaw. 

“I’ve think I’ve made it plenty clear that I am on a time constraint.” Alakoso snarled irritably as he released Tony’s jaw from his grip and pushed him back towards Bishop.

“You two are testing my patience. And while I am a meticulous man, I am not a patient one.”

Neither agent said a word. Alakoso made a clicking noise of disgust as he turned towards the men guarding the door. 

“The bag.” He commanded and the smaller of the two guards, disappeared into the hallway, returning with a small, rectangular, black bag. Tony swallowed nervously with apprehension. Despite its small and unassuming stature, Tony knew not to underestimate its power. This man could turn toothpicks into instruments of mass destruction if he wanted too. Alakoso made a great show out of opening the bag, revealing its contents, an assortment of knives, scalpels, and other sharp objects, and laying each out on the dust covered ground. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead as he recognized the obvious implications of those tools. Tony imperceptibly glanced at Bishop who had gathered enough of her bearings to stop shivering, but her eyes were still trained on the floor. So Tony turned back to the man who was painstakingly laying out objects in neat little rows with the precision of a surgeon. The men in the doorway were no longer staring straight ahead, but looking right at them agitatedly with unsavory eyes. The taller of the two grinned wickedly when their eyes meant and Tony immediately shifted his gaze towards the floor once more. 

“This would all be easier if you would just give us the codes.” Alakoso murmured as he organized the last of the tools on the ground. Tony and Bishop had no faith in those words, they would be digging their own graves if they said the truth, and even if they were to survive, the U.S government would ostracize them anyway. Alakoso turned to them unnervingly, cracking his knuckles and rolling his neck. The bastard was itching for them to make a mistake.

“I’m going to ask nicely one more time.” Alakoso stated calmly. “Give me the release codes and passwords of Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3.”

Both agents remained stock-still.

“Very well.” Alakoso whistled at the two gun-wielding men behind them and gestured at Bishop.

“Take the analyst to the other cell. Do whatever you need to get her to talk. I will deal with Mr. Dinozzo here.” Alakoso said in a sickeningly sweet tone and the two soldiers descended on them like flies to a light bulb, discarding their machine guns outside of the cell. Bishop reflexively flinched away while Tony stepped in font of her, but it was to no avail.

“N-no. Don’t touch her! Get away from her you son of a bitch!” Tony protested as the men descended upon them. “Alakoso! Tell them to stop!” A violent uppercut delivered to his solar plexus, disrupted his protests and left him crumpled on the floor wheezing for air as they dragged the fighting Bishop out of the cell. The prison door slammed shut behind them.

“Oh, Don’t worry Mr. Dinozzo. I’m sure she’ll be fine. My men are very… considerate and concerned for her well-being. We don’t have a lot of women here after all.” Alakoso said sardonically as he moved towards Tony. 

Alakoso grabbed the collar of Tony’s shirt, forcing the smaller man upwards. His captor’s elbow dug painfully into his back as he pressed Tony up against the wall. 

“A word of advice.” Tony cringed as calloused hand wrapped itself around his neck. “Never tell a person in a position of power, your superior, what to do.”

The fingers on Tony’s neck tensed, then a digit dug into a tender soft spot that made Tony gasp in agony. The pressure did not lessen and red hot pain exploded in his skull, and then he was screaming. It hurt it hurt it hurt oh God it hurt. The pain was constant, then increased until Tony’s lungs deflated and the scream died on his chapped, bloody lips.

“Pressure points. A man’s best friend.” Alakoso chuckled, refusing to let Tony’s position against the wall relax.

His fingers increased the pressure again and suddenly the pain was back. And the agony was worse, Tony didn’t even know it could get worse, but there it was, fraying his sanity and ripping his lungs to pieces as he screamed, and screamed. His body crumbled to the ground as the agony crushed him, his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood, but Alakoso didn’t stop there.  
When the pressure finally stopped Tony felt hot tears roll down his cheeks, cutting through the dust and dirt on his skin. His throat was raw, and there was a metallic taste in his mouth that was undoubtedly blood; he must have bitten himself at some point. The brevity of all his others injuries were forgotten as he struggled to overcome this one. Alakoso released him and Tony crumbled to the ground once more.  
As Tony caught his breath laboriously, he could hear the muffled screams of Bishop in the distance. He lay dejectedly as he watched Alakoso whistle his way over to the assortments of objects on the floor.  
“Make them stop. She doesn’t know anything!” Tony rasped desperately.  
“ Do you take me for a fool? Of course one of you knows something.” Alakoso tsked as returned with a blade and rope. Tony wished he could disagree with that statement.  
“At the very least, that Probationary Agent Ellie Bishop has to know something.” Alakoso said with disgust as he busily tied Tony’s wrists in front of him. The rest of his work was done in silence only interrupted by the faint screaming of Bishop from somewhere else inside the building. The cell swam in dreary circles as Alakaso tied the rope to a boathook attached to the ceiling and began hoisting him upward until his toes barely skimmed the floor. His ribs protested with aching discomfort as his shoulders were pressed into an unnatural position.  
“Maybe you need a little more incentive or a little more… influence to get that brain speaking? No?”  
Without warning, the knife sliced across the blue fabric on chest, and dark blood started to pool out of the long wound and down onto the fabric, crisscrossing over the other barely healed scars from earlier sessions. Tony groaned with anguish, more tears salting the wounds on his cheeks.  
Alakoso barely gave him time to recover before slammed the handle of the blade into Tony’s temple, sending blood down his tanned skin and into the dark stubble on his cheek. His arms strained against the weight of his body hanging only from his wrists. Tony cried out as the ropes rubbed the skin of his wrists raw. Sluggishly, he forced himself to reposition himself onto his toes to take the stress off of his wrists.  
“Physically impressive – very impressive, I must say – but no mental discipline. A real man would not cry.”  
Tony’s red-rimmed green eyes looked up and into the dark eyes of the torturer. Alakoso started right back, fiddling with the blade of the sword. “Alakoso, please,” he begged. His head was pounding in time with the rest of his aching body.  
Alakoso eyes furiously snapped up from cleaning the blade. “Please, what, Mr. Dinozzo? I told you what to do. Just say the words. The passwords to Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3. And this will all stop.”  
“I. Don’t. Know.” Tony reiterated desperately.  
Alakoso put the blade perpendicular with Tony’s neck, pushing just enough so that he could feel the blade against his neck. Alakoso pushed his body close, daring the younger man to make a move. He slowly applied pressure to the sharp end of the knife into Tony’s skin; a bead of blood oozed out and covering the tip  
“I thought so.” Alakoso said grinning morbidly tracing the blade down his torso bringing thin streams of crimson red wherever the knife touched.

“Maybe if you thought a little harder. You would remember. Then you and ‘Probationary Agent’ Bishop would be free.” Alakoso taunted and then buried the knife into his left thigh. The pain skyrockets as his muscle spasms as it tries to get rid of the foreign object. Tony screams himself hoarse as he tries to lessen the pain, but with his hands tied above his head there is nothing he can do. The knife stifles the blood flow and the crimson trickles slowly from the puncture area, but the pain is raw. His vision blackens as the pain overwhelms him. Then every thing goes dark.

When Tony wakes up again, Alakoso is gone as with all the objects and the black bag. Yet, he is still hanging from the ceiling by his wrists and he can barely bend his fingers. As he examines the knife wound, he is shocked to see the knife was removed and a darkening cloth wrapped tightly around the area. It wasn’t first aid quality, but it was better than nothing. Tony guessed he was to good to die from infection. He oddly found himself laughing at his joke, even if it wasn’t that funny.

The familiar clicking of the keypad sobered him instantly. Was Alakoso back? Was he coming back for round two? The cell door swung open and one of the guards from earlier dragged an unconscious Ellie Bishop in, smirking as he did so. Her long plaid shirt was missing now only the previously white, now maroon tank top remained. He felt sick to his stomach as he saw the scars that crossed up and around her arms. Bishop had always been hesitant to display her injuries to him, so he never the full extent, but now he could see a large number of pin pricks dotting her skin like freckles. Needles. The guard stepped away, spitting on the floor as he did so. On his way out he tossed in four peanut butter sandwiches and two bottles of water. Their only meal for today.

What was taking Gibbs and Mcgee so long?


	3. Chapter 3

The taut rope gnawed away at his skin like a beaver to a log. As the time passed Tony’s chalky white hands had swollen to size of melons. An unfortunate after effect of the constricted blood flow. In the beginning he could barely bend his forefingers, but now both hands were completely numb. In a way he was grateful, he couldn’t feel the trails blood that seeped from his body and saturated the rope. Only witness the drops of crimson drop slide off his arms and fall slowly to the dusty ground like drips of water from a leaky faucet. The tiny ‘thwack, thwack’ of the droplets hitting the ground made him want to scream. To hear anything other than his and Ellie’s breathing and that putrid sound, would be a huge relief, but he had neither the energy nor the capacity to make any noise for himself. 

Every few minutes Tony’s vision would blur as his mind tried to goad him towards the peaceful abyss of unconsciousness, but he struggled to remain alert. One of them had to remain awake at all time; being off their guard openly exposed their vulnerability. A trait Alakoso and his animals seemed to sniff out like bloodhounds. Neither agent liked being put in a position where they were not in control, but since that had been frequently as of late, they settled for the next best thing. Being prepared. All he could see was the backside of Bishop, who had not moved from her position since the previous guard had discarded her there. And that had been, at the very least, over hour ago. She was obviously unconscious and showed no signs of waking up anytime soon. Whether it was the result of all those needle pricks marking her skin or something else, he was not certain. His only indicator that she was even alive was the steady rise and fall of her breath. Tony itched to do something, but he could not determine anything from this position. Only one thing was certain; he had to get out of these ropes.

Dinozzo looked blearily up at the ceiling and the apparatus that was attached to the rope and bolted to the celling. He’d been hung and tortured while tied to this rope several times, but he had never thoroughly examined the apparatus. He had seen no need too. Alakoso would usually let him down after those sessions; leaving him today hanging had been a first. The nylon rope was thoroughly attached to the metal; it was looped twice with three strongly tied knots. A hook-like fastener that seemed to be drilled into the wall with sturdy long screws was attached firmly to the maximum. Tony had hoped that it would be rusty or broken in some way, but it looked fairly new and resolute. His hope did not waver. Although the device seemed impenetrable, the ceiling surface that surrounded it was muddled with cracks and crevices. Maybe if he got enough momentum…

Tony swallowed his pain as he centered as much of his body weight to the balls of his feet as he could. He winced as blood dribbled from his wrists more freely when the pressure from the rope decreased, but the less constricted blood flow ebbed some feeling into his hands, allowing them to bend once more. Several minutes passed as he flexed his fingers, slowly urging life into his deadened hands. Once the feeling had completely returned to the hands, he wrapped them experimentally around the nylon rope. The texture was rough, but not pliable. Just what he needed. 

He brought his hands up as far up the rope as he could and firmly tightened his grip. Using what remained of his upper body strength; Tony lifted himself completely of the ground so that the rope would hold his entire weight. Then he let go. The discomfort in his wrists increased exponentially as the pressure from the rope returned full force, his ribs ached as the fractures sifted against each other, and his shoulders muscles pulled tightly as they tried to accommodate the strain, but his hope did not waver. A thin layer of dust and plaster now blanketed the room from the shaken ceiling. Although the rope was still firmly attached to the ceiling, he now knew it could be done. 

Several minutes passed as Tony gathered the energy to complete another attempt. Sweat poured down his face in rivulets, burning his eyes and his wounds with its salty composition. His lungs felt like they were about to explode, each breath was an ordeal. His shoulders awkward position hindered his ability to take deep breaths. Tony’s visions blurred as he began to slip away again. No! Not before he got out of these ropes. Swallowing his pain, Tony brought his hands up as far up the rope as he could and firmly tightened his grip once more. He heaved his battered form up into the air as high as he could. It took him a significant amount of time more than his first attempt. Then let go for the next and apparently final time.

Tony plummeted face first into the ground as the chunk of plaster encasing the contraption was ripped from the wall. He spat out bloody chunks of sand and rolled onto his back, embracing his newfound freedom. It felt like a giant weight had been lifted. He had a few moments of blessed happiness before the rush of agony from all his other injuries blinded him acutely, reminding him he was not completely in the clear yet. Tony tried to stand, or at the very least get to his knees, but he quickly found that his stab wound would not allow him too. He found that he could not put pressure on or even lift his leg without sending excruciating waves of pain throughout the rest of his body. He resulted to army crawling, even if it meant dragging himself through the blood and soot that covered the cell.

His first instinct was to check on Bishop but his stomach rumbled at the sight of the peanut butter sandwiches on the floor. Tony had forgotten how hungry he was; he hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday. Although their meal for today was now covered in plaster shavings and dust, it didn’t look any less appetizing than it had before. Tony ached for some sustenance as he inched toward the food in the corner of the room. He would just eat a one of the sandwiches, maybe drink a little water, and some self-medication and then he would check on Bishop, Tony rationalized. He shakily pulled himself into an upright position. 

First things first. Tony carefully untied the torquinette and delicately rolled up his cargo pants revealing the ghastly stab wound. Blood spurted to the surface as the pressure was released. Crimson red sprayed the ground around him. He would have to do this quickly. Tony stuffed the bottom of his shirt into his mouth as he untwisted the top to one of the bottles and poured it slowly over the lesion, cleaning any dirt that may have intruded. The water was a cool, but welcomed shock to his overheated skin but his leg’s instinct was to tense in response to the intrusion. The damage done to his muscles as a result of the knife did not appreciate the involuntary tensing. Tears sprung to his eyes as excruciating pain coursed through his body in large shockwaves. Once the pain subsided and he was satisfied with his work, Tony immediately applied pressure retied the makeshift bandage around it. 

He only intended to take a swig of what was left in the water bottle, but once he started he couldn’t stop. His throat was parched and drinking the cool liquid felt like he was swimming in the Amazon Basin. The liberation was short-lived. Within seconds of finishing, Tony had expelled almost all of the water, bile, and blood onto the ground next to him. His stomach did not appreciate the massive inhalation and reacted with nauseous retaliation. He groaned in frustration at the contents on the floor. Having learned his lesson, Tony nibbled slowly on the peanut butter sandwich. 

His steady lunch was interrupted by a sharp inhalation from beside him. Bishop. The young agent had woken with such spontaneity, that Tony flinched away as she threw herself into an upright position. She barely even acknowledged Tony’s prescience as she rolled away from him, stumbled to her feet, and shoved herself into the corner of the room adjacent from him. Leaving Tony trying to figure out what in the world had just happened. Bishop’s eyes were watery with sheer pain and confusion and her breaths came out in sharp, shallow rasps as she clutched her head in between her hands. He discarded the remains of his sandwich on the floor beside him. Food could wait.

“Probie! Probie!” Tony said sliding over in front of his friend. He was hesitant to touch her because of the way she had recoiled away before Alakoso had come in earlier. Instead, Tony snapped his fingers in front of her face rapidly trying to get her to snap out of it, but he clearly was not getting through. Bishop’s eyes were wide and unfocused, obviously not seeing the same thing he was. Instead Bishop trained her line of sight towards the floor below them as she continued fruitlessly to back into the corner. She was in her own little world. Against his better judgment, Tony grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. Her eyes were glassy and largely dilated; he could barely see her silvery irises. They shifted back and forth, but never focused on a single thing as she tried to squirm out of his grasp. Was Bishop high?

“Argh. Let go of me!” Bishop screamed as she flailed out at him. Her arm swung out at him and although the glancing blow did not hurt him much, her nails were bitten down to the root and she was to weak to do much damage anyway. Regardless, Tony released his grip on her in surprise. The former analyst immediately wriggled away from him and skittered to the other side of the room, wobbling intermittently as she did so. Tony sat dumfounded as he watched her pace, or rather limp, back and forth across the small length of the cell. What was going on?

Then Tony remembered the scars he had seen peppering her arms earlier. The ones that resembled dozens of needle pricks that were disproportionately marked all over her body. He hadn’t been coherent to realize its implications at first, but now it hit him. Hit him like a head on collision with train. Alakaso’s broad insinuations about influencing people to talk, the pinpricks on Bishop’s skin, her weird, erratic behavior. Suddenly, it all made sense. Drugs. Their captors had put her on something. They had escalated, just like he thought they would. They had probably tried to get her confused and incoherent, in the hopes of getting her to trip over her words and reveal some vital information that she refused to release when she was sober. Although Bishop would not be at fault, Tony couldn’t help but worry if she had given them anything. Not just for his sake, but for hers and the entire United State’s as well. While he did not know a single thing about Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3, the same could not be said for Bishop, who had probably dabbled in more than her fair share foreign affairs. And despite the situation it had gotten them into, threatening the world’s national security was never an option.

“Get out of my head! I-I’m not telling you anything!” Bishop muttered as she stumbled around sluggishly. Her hands covered her ears as she tried to block out the invisible voices. Tony staggered to his feet and used the wall to heavily support himself as he started edging towards her. His vision blurred, the atrocities of the today’s sessions were beginning to take their toll on him, his adrenaline was finally running out, but Tony knew he could not check out with Bishop on a bender. There was no telling what would happen if he was not awake. Bishop rapidly backed away from Tony as he approached, tripping over the nylon rope and chunky plaster he’d left carelessly in the middle of the floor and landing in a heap next to it. 

“Fuck!’ Bishop groaned rocking back and forth as she clutched her head in her hands once more. “Why won’t it stop?” She hit her head with the palm of her hand once. Then twice. Then a third time. What the hell was she doing?

“You need to calm down Bishop.” Tony ordered in the sternest tone he could muster, but his anxiety showed through. He itched to move forward, to try and help, but at the same time he did not know what to do. The few people Tony had seen pumped up on drugs were criminals, not coworkers. All his knowledge from workshop seminars on how to approach this situation had all but disappeared. The only thing he knew was that Bishop was going to end up injuring herself further if she continued at this rate. He had to put a stop to it now. God, where was she getting this energy from? 

“Shut up! SHUT UP! Get out of my head!” She slurred, rocking back and forth. Her fingernails were burrowing into her skin, drawing trails of crimson blood, as they dug across it. 

All right, screw it. Tony thought. Bishop tried hitting her head with the palm of her hand again, but this time he stopped her. Bishop flinched violently and struggled to move away, but Dinozzo only tightened his grip. Even though they were both weak, he was still much stronger than her. He regretted it almost immediately as he saw fresh blood begin to seep from her wounds, but rationalized that is was better than the alternative.

“Probationary Agent Bishop!” Tony yelled in his best Gibbs voice. It sounded raspy and almost nothing like his boss, but it carried the same commandeering tone. For a moment, Bishop stopped struggling and went completely still. They were both were silent as they stared at each other. Had it worked? Tony had no game plan for what he would do if it had. Then…

“Ha. Tony! Look, the walls are moving!”” Bishop said dreamily, shakily pointing a finger at the cell wall behind him. Then her eyes rolled up into the back of her head as she collapsed. Tony caught Bishop as she fell backwards and laid her gently on the dirty cell floor. The room was silent again. As if nothing had ever happened.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony had managed to stay awake for about half an hour after Bishop had passed out. He stayed at constant guard over her, scrutinizing her closely for any sign of life threatening damage. Each twitch and movement she made, Dinozzo catalogued for later, paranoid that whatever they had given her would have some detrimental after effect. He had wanted to stem the flow of blood, or at the very least, clean the wounds that he had reopened after forcefully restraining her, but at that point fatigue had almost completely taken over. His throbbing leg, bruised ribs, raw wrists, and unbearable migraine had jointly conspired to bring him down and now he could not even bring himself to move to the other side of the cell to fetch the food and water. Even if he were able to fetch the water, after the events of the last few days, the high-strung analyst would probably react negatively at best to the intrusion of space. So he stayed vigil until Bishop’s rapid breathing started even and the constant twitching began to lessen. And when his vision blurred and his limbs became heavy, Tony did not fight the wave of darkness that enveloped him.

His dreams were filled with distorted memories. All overlapping and intermixing with each other like a giant watercolor painting. Images of his father, of Gibbs, of the Star of David swam murkily through his mind, forming disconnected and disjointed storylines of events that even he could not clarify. Laughter and melodious voices flowed through his head, it gave him comfort even when could not understand what they were saying. In his dreams, Tony did not feel the pain of his injuries. In his dreams, he could walk without the throbbing agony of his stab wound bothering him. In his dreams, the entire team was together engaging in their early morning banter. Only, however, in his dreams. 

At some point the laughter and chatter stopped, the harmonious colors stopped bleeding together, and the fictitious, but happy storylines paused. They were angrily ripped away; replaced with cold, grey scenes of empty expanse. Then the monsters of his consciousness tore their way into the abyss. Black nasty creatures with sharp claws, Alakoso with his steel toed combat boots, the assortment of guards streaming around him with batons and combat rifles. The nightmares rapidly altered into other morbid and terrifying scenarios. A long forgotten stepmother telling Tony how cowardly he was. Bishop screaming for him to help her. Tony screaming from the extensiveness of his injuries. The sounds piled on top of one another until it was nothing but an incoherent roar. His dream self could do nothing but watch as scenarios pushed and shoved and combined into one giant act. A giant spiral of destruction, with him sitting dead in the center. The noises grew louder and incoherent as they parted to reveal a shaded figure. Gibbs. His boss entered the center of the spiral and the two men made eye contact. ‘Please. You have to help me.” Tony could hear his dream self beg, but the Gibbs did not respond. Instead, his boss only shook his head in disappointment. Then turned around. And disappeared into the crowd as he walked away. Then the monsters descended upon him.

When Tony jolted awake, it was early in the morning. He was sweating profusely and the cool air of the purple sunrise, while acting as an artificial coolant to his open sores, did little to relieve him from the burning fire of his nightmares. It was just a dream. It was just a dream. Dinozzo repeated the mantra over and over in his head as he mentally catalogued his injuries. Overnight, his ribs had numbed some; although it was still painful to take deep breaths, it no longer hurt to take shallow ones. The bite of some of his cuts and gashes had seemingly dimmed as well. Now serving only to aggravate him as sand particles lodged themselves in between the healing wounds. However for every positive aspect, there were several negatives to combat it. The deep gash across his torso, though clotted over, throbbed persistently and his leg had inflamed to twice the size of what it had been yesterday. Yellow sticky pus and half-clotted blood oozed out from under his makeshift bandage, leaking onto a now damp spot on the ground beneath him. Dinozzo felt nauseous looking at it. It would definitely have to be cleaned it again. He did not look forward to doing that. 

Bishop was across from him, no longer lying still on the ground, but sitting cross-legged and seemingly entranced with the palms of her hands. She looked up at him as he shifted into a more comfortable position. Although Bishop still sported that haunted, hollow look, Tony was elated to see that Bishop’s pupils were constricted again and that her erratic behavior had seemingly tempered over. Prominent bruises had arisen prominently across Bishop’s face, a testimony to whatever they’d done to her the day before, but aside from the wounds she had reopened from the previous days, there was no new threatening damage. 

“Are you okay?” she asked him throatily. “Your wrists must hurt.” Between the hole in the ceiling, the rope on the floor, and his red, inflamed wrists, Bishop must have put two and two together. 

“I’ll be okay. They’re the least of my problems.” Tony grunted back nonchalantly as possible. No point in getting her worried. “I’m glad you’re okay. You gave me quite a scare.”

“What?” Bishop’s brow furrowed in confusion. Tony almost gaped. Did she not remember?

“You were talking to the walls Bishop. You kept telling me to shut up even when I wasn’t talking. You pulled a Beautiful Mind on me.” Tony said trying to bring humor into the situation.

“Oh. No… I don’t remember any of that.” Bishop responded uncomfortably, unconsciously rubbing her needle marked arms. She was suddenly unwilling to look him in the eyes; instead she went back to examining her hands. 

“Do you know what they gave you? I need to know incase something else happens.” Tony asked breaching the topic carefully, but Bishop only shrugged.  
“I don’t know. He w-wouldn’t tell me.” Bishop muttered.

“Hey it’s okay you kn-“ Tony began.

“They took my wedding ring.” Bishop interrupted solemnly, she didn’t look up at him as she said it. Tony swallowed thickly. Along with the clothes on their backs, Alakoso and the guards had let Bishop keep her wedding ring. They never specified why and Bishop and Dinozzo never questioned it. Just graciously accepted it. Tony should have known it was just one of their power games. 

“They said they were going to kill him if I didn’t give them the codes.” She continued. Tony sat in silence as he processed this information. He’d met Jake a couple of times before and he seemed like a good guy who had proved invaluable to some of their cases. Unfortunately, Tony knew exactly why he would become a target.

“They wouldn’t do that right? It’s statistically unfavorable and not to their immediate strategic advantage. I mean even if Jake holds a position of the importance within the NSA and even if he has close ties with NCIS, it would be inconvenient because Gibbs would have given him a protective order by now. Right?” 

Bishop was rambling. Talking in circles in an effort to convince herself that Jake was going to be fine and that they were just making empty threats. Dinozzo wanted to agree. He wanted say that Gibbs had already ensured a protective order and that the team was probably in a safe house as they continued for them. That Alakaso and his men did not have enough manpower or technology to kill a man who worked with one of the United States top security agencies. He wanted to say that. But he knew, and deep inside Bishop probably knew, that it was highly unlikely. Bishop and Dinozzo after all had been wrestled into the vehicle while in the midst of a crime scene, with dozens of law and order professionals around them. Their captors definitely had the capability. Of course he did not say that out loud. No use in creating anymore panic. 

“No, they don’t mean anything by that. They couldn’t do it if they tried, with Big Sam watching and all.” He agreed vehemently. Bishop nodded, satisfied as she looked at her hands again.

“There’s food and water over there if you want it.” She said wincing as she pointed to the small lump of food next to the cell door.

“I know.” He acknowledged and the conversation ceased as they lapsed into an awkward silence. 

The awkwardness shifted to a apprehensive one as the dreadful sound keypad numbered being punched in immediately put them on high alert. When Alakoso entered the room, Tony could immediately tell something was going to be different. The torturer had a more confident than usual air around him. Almost arrogant. Mostly eager. All the more terrifying.

“Buenos Dias, mis amigos!” He greeted happily, an evil glint in his usual stony eyes. “How did our captors sleep tonight? Good I hope?”

Tony was incredulous at this uncharacteristically upbeat behavior, but remained silent and kept his eyes trained to the floor. Across from him Bishop slowly began to stand up, accustomed to the routine, Tony made to follow but his swollen leg inhibited him. His anxiety sparked as he worried what Alakaso would do to him if he were unable to get up. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long for a response. 

“No. Stay down. We’re doing something different today.” Alakoso instructed, a degree of seriousness entered his voice again. “Come in, Sahud.” 

A man he’d never seen before entered the room. He was as tan, angular, and muscular as their torturer, but he loomed at least six inches over Alakoso. His arms, much like Alakaso, were covered in healed scars and reached almost unnaturally to his knees. Certain features of his body seemed out of proportion, seemingly larger than the other ‘normal’ parts of his body. His hands were the size of basketballs and were unnaturally lightly colored compared to the rest of his skin tone. It gave him an overall ape like appearance. However, the most disturbing thing about this man was his absence of an eye. A long jagged scar ran diagonally across the left side of his face, slicing hideously over his left eye. It did not completely get rid of it, but permanently disfigured it. Tony did not want to know how he got that injury, but an eerie milky white orb was all that was left.

“You’re going to have to forgive him, he doesn’t speak. He does, however, know his way around the flame.” Alakaso said leaving the room. 

Sahud flashed them a toothy, merciless grin and they watched warily as Alakoso’s companion fished a small lighter out of his pocket. The lighter looked puny in comparison to what those massive hands could do to him, but he knew the flickering flame could do just as much damage. They both watched cautiously as Sahud continued to flick the flame on and off, watching them with that one milky eye, but never moving from his position. Alakaso returned a short moment later with a crow bar and tossed it to his companion. Then his steel-toed boots made their way over to Bishop.

“You. You seem to think you have control over what you do and do not say. But you do not. You are nothing but property here. I have tried being nice, I have tried not being nice and you remain a stubborn mule. Time is running out and so has my patience. Lay down on the floor.” 

Bishop was slow to follow this order, partly because of the severity of her injuries and partly because of her fixation on the crowbar that Sahud now held firmly in his hand. It had garnered a soft golden glow as the silent man heated it with a lighter. It was easier for Dinozzo, who had never gotten up in the first place, and had practically been lying on the ground to start with. He silently willed for Bishop to hurry up, knowing that any hesitance would likely anger the man further.

“I SAID LIE DOWN!” Alakoso roared and Bishop and Dinozzo rushed to follow his orders. “I see you broke the boat hook, Mr. Dinozzo. Your loss, it will just make this occurrence much more personal. Sahud?”

The half-blind giant lumbered forward towards Bishop. The crowbar was red hot in his hand. Tony jerked forward to defend her, but Alakaso held him back. Sahud dropped to his knees next to the quivering agent, who was trying her damn hardest not to cry. Tony could only watch helplessly as the man held a finger to her mouth as if he was shushing her and then braced a knee on her back to prevent her from moving. Then he set to work. Sahud moved with an almost childlike fascination. He used one hand to brush away the hair from the back of her neck and paused to inhale the scent as Bishop fruitlessly struggled to get away. Then he awkwardly patted her head before slowly and deliberately, pressing the heated crowbar onto the base of her neck. 

For a split second there was silence and Tony could hear the sizzling sound of hot metal connecting to skin. Then Bishop was screaming like she never had before. Her hands grabbed spastically at the ground looking for something to hold into. Her face turned red as she gasped for more air than she could receive. Tony could hear her skin crackle and pop as hot bar morphed and distorted her skin. However, nothing was as unbearable as the smell of burning flesh. It smelt like the love child of burnt cat fur, rotten eggs, and the coppery aroma of blood. The putrid aroma hit him like a shock wave and Tony threw up what was left of his stomach contents on to the ground in front of him. Bishop just kept screaming incoherently as the skin blistered and bubbled across her neck. 

Eventually Sahud lifted the crowbar away from her neck, only to lay it down on various other sections of her body. Again and again. Dinozzo’s voice was hoarse as he yelled for him to stop. Of course, he didn’t listen. They never did. Sahud seemed to take pleasure in their reactions; laughing soundlessly every time he moved the bar. By the fifth brand, Bishop just lay there gasping like a fish out of water; her eyes darted rapidly around the room. Dinozzo actually wanted her pass out and spare her the agony she was obviously facing now, but she never did. Maybe she was to resilient for her own good. On the tenth crowbar brand, Sahud finally stopped. Apparently satisfied with his work. And Tony let out a relieved breath, although Bishop lay twitching on the ground next to him, she was no longer facing the pain of being scorched alive.

“Anything to say Agent Bishop?” Alakaso asked. Bishop gave an incoherent reply that was mostly muddled by her tears and sweat. Not that Alakaso held much interest in her answer anyways. It seems as if he was beyond getting the codes that he needed. Tony wheezed for air as Alakoso redistributed his entire body weight onto his back. His ribs flared up again as they were pressed against the dusty, concrete floor by his heavy knees. Alakoso had to be at least two hundred pounds. More tears sprung to his eyes as a steel-toed boot burrowed into his stab-wound inflicted leg and he could not suppress the groan of pain that passed his lips. 

“Tsk. Tsk. Quiet Mr. Dinozzo, you cannot make any noise. Otherwise we won’t be able to hear Agent Bishop.” He instructed mockingly. Dinozzo highly doubted that Bishop would even be able to say anything more at the moment. Bishop twitched sporadically across from him and her eyes couldn’t even focus on one thing as the tears streamed down her face. He could see the blistering skin from the branding pucker and swell. Sahud had not relaxed his hold on her either and was still waving the still cooling crow bar tauntingly in front of her face. 

“Oxygen’s a funny thing. It makes up less than twenty percent of the… what’s it called…atmosphere. Yet, you need it to live. I think that human body can only survive two-maybe three minutes without it?” Alakoso purposely left the question open-ended as he unbuckled his black belt from around his waist. “Here is what is going to happen Ellie. I am going wrap this belt around Mr. Dinozzo’s neck and then I’m going to pull. Then we’ll get to see how long the human body can withstand without it. Or you can tell me the access code and maybe your friend will live.”

Tony desperately tried to make eye contact with Bishop. Don’t do it, don’t say anything. He mouthed. Bishop’s were filled with pain, but he could tell she understood. Then he tensed as the leather of Alakaso’s belt wrapped around his neck. It started as a mild discomfort and then there was a rush of almost incredible sensation, almost like he was flying. The light-headedness was bizarre, but not completely disagreeable and for the briefest of moments, it felt a bit exciting, but then panic set in. As he suddenly becomes aware that he cannot breathe. 

“He’s turning red, Agent Bishop.” Alakaso warned. As darkness begins around the edges of his eyes and his vision begins to blur, Tony begins to hear voices. First, he could hear Bishop crying, screaming raggedly for them to let him go. Then the raspy wheezing from Sahud as he laughed gleefully. Then back to Alakaso demanding for Bishop to talk. Suddenly, he hears other ones, belonging to people who could not possibly be in the same room. McGee. Abby. Gibbs. His father. Ziva. Are they saying fight? He can’t tell. It’s all bleeding together. Suddenly he can see the black creatures of his earlier nightmares clawing at him. Dragging him into the darkness. He sees the darkness around him getting thicker, deeper, and fuller… Then he hears the chorus again. Fight. That’s it. He’s not going out like this. Not without a fight. The black in his vision turns red and then he jerks backward with unprecedented strength, catching Alakaso off guard, bucking the taller man off his back. 

The belt loosens as he slams the man to the ground with the prowess of a linebacker, twists around, and starts pounding him against the floor over and over again. His knuckles become slippery with blood as he pummels him relentlessly and Tony thinks it’s hysterical that the man is finally getting a taste of his own medicine. He can swear he hears laughter in the background. He isn’t sure whom it belongs to, but he’d be damned if it doesn’t sound just a bit familiar.


	5. Chapter 5

Jacob Timothy Malloy was dead. In spite of the protective detail instilled upon him by both the directors of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service and the National Security Agency, his bullet riddled corpse now laid greying in Ducky Mallard’s autopsy room, as if they needed a doctor to figure out what killed him. Both agencies had tried to prevent him from being directly involved in the investigation and search for his wife, Ellie Bishop, and Anthony Dinozzo, citing him as a liability due to personal relations. But this case was personal for all of them. It was, after all, their agents’ lives on the line. So the NSA attorney had been unwilling to sit back and play the role of worried spouse and had barked up the tree of every government official and torn apart every protocol and procedure until he found a way to insert himself directly into the investigation. Vance had been more lenient, understanding the feeling of helpless when a loved one was hurt. The NSA had been more reluctant, but gave in on the agreement for Malloy to have protective detail on him at all times. They were convinced that the disappearances of Bishop and Dinozzo were somehow connected to information concerning their agency. And maybe they were right. In which case, Malloy would have been to valuable of an asset to lose. But Jake hadn’t been concerned for his own life. He had dedicated every waking hour to cross-referencing information and intelligence from both agencies and zealously looking for connections. Even when there were none.

The dead ends frustratingly piled up and each failure had weighed upon all of them heavily. But none had taken the toll harder than Malloy himself, who had forced himself to work harder and longer with each mounting failure. The bags under his eyes had grown, his physique had withered, and his psyche had been on the brink of shattering. Much like Bishop had been acting when she was on the Benin Parsa case a couple years back. After Malloy had thrown his laptop and shattered its screen in frustration when yet another lead had gone cold. It was Gibbs who had eventually forced the young man to go home and get some much-needed rest. He could tell the attorney had wanted to argue with him… had wanted to stay in the office and look for his wife, but he had deflated and the energy had visibly dispelled from him and he could only numbly nod. So the two remaining agents had helped Malloy pick up the broken pieces of hardware and wordlessly watched as he stuffed them into his satchel with tear-filled eyes. Gibbs and McGee knew that feeling of misery all to well, but neither could find any comforting words to say to him besides the useless clichés they’d all been telling themselves since the beginning. So Gibbs had awkwardly patted his shoulder as Malloy morosely shook each of their hands and quietly thanked them for helping. Then watched solemnly as he had sulked towards the elevator, his protective detail trailing behind him, and a new file clutched firmly in his hands. And they knew he was not going to get any rest, that he would not get any until the agents were safe, that they would probably see him the next morning despite orders to take the next day off. They knew... They had known. That was the last time they saw NSA Attorney Jake Malloy alive. 

Thirty-seven bullets in total. Seven missed the intended target completely. Eight were mere flesh wounds. Seventeen would have left lasting nerve damage. Six were fatal. According to Abby, their resident forensics and ballistics expert, the shots were fired at close range from a Browning Hi Power, single-action, semi-automatic handgun. A handgun that only had a thirteen round magazine capacity, which meant the asshole would have had to empty his clip, reload, and then completely unload the entire magazine again. Essential and unnecessary overkill. 

From a combination of security detail’s case reports and grainy video footage, Gibbs had gathered that Jake and his protective detail had broken protocol and late into the night had allowed the attorney to visit a local convenience store and buy some generic prescription sleeping pills. McGee had taken the liberty of retrieving the security footage from cameras in the convenience store and the adjacent ones watching the street. He had compiled them all into one video stream and after watching the footage himself had handed it off to him. Although the footage was grainy, in black and white, and contained no audio, Gibbs was able to get a devastating picture of what had taken place before Malloy had died. True to their word, both men on his security detail had stood guard nondescriptly in their plain-clothed uniform at the entrance. After the purchase had been made and Malloy left the store, the grainy footage showed two men in nondescript hoodies with semi-automatic handguns quickly close in on the trio. He didn’t even make it home.

The first bullet had been fired indiscriminately into Malloy’s back and the attorney ha d crumpled to the ground. One member of the security detail had turned and fired back immediately while the other grabbed the fallen man and attempted to drag him to cover. They had not gotten very far. A second bullet pierced the detail’s skull with deadly accuracy and within seconds he was down. A torrent of bullets rained down on the trio and the second agent was forced to dive for cover, leaving an injured Malloy to fend for himself. Gibbs watched the video in fury as one man calmly reloaded his gun and walked towards the dead security guard and Malloy who was dragging himself toward the dead detail’s firearm. The other had continued to shoot at the remaining bodyguard. Despite the gritty footage, Gibbs could see at this point that Malloy was badly injured. Dark blood flowed from wounds in his arms, legs, and back, but the attorney was determined and grasped loosely at the gun in front of him. Gibbs swallowed as he watched the man in the hoodie kick the gun away from his grasp and empty the rest of the clip into the still moving man. 

Once Malloy had ceased moving, the unidentified man had fished out a small device… a phone... and took a picture of the corpse. Evidence of kill, Gibbs realized. The man tossed the phone to his companion and the two men quickly made their escape, assuming wrongly that the last detail was dead. As they turned their backs, the remaining agent staggered from behind the car he’d been using as cover and fired two more shots. The first bullet hit the previous phone holder in the abdomen and hit the other in the leg. The first man collapsed, but the other sprinted away and disappeared around the corner as police cars began to arrive on scene. Then the footage ended.

How many people did he have to lose on his watch? Shannon. Kelly. Kate. Jenny. Dorgnet. Diane. He slammed the computer lid down and kicked the file cabinet in frustration. Ducky Mallard looked up from the autopsy in sympathy. 

“It is with my deepest regret that Mr. Malloy had to suffer so immensely before he passed, Jethro.” Ducky commented morosely as he finished suturing the final stitch necessary to close Malloy’s chest cavity.

“I know Duck… I know…” Gibbs said as he left the autopsy room and strode towards the forensics lab.  
………………..

The absence of music in Abby’s forensics lab cast an eerily silent shadow over the room as the forensic scientist typed frantically away at her computer. Her makeup was applied messily, her hair was pulled up hastily in two ponytails, and her red eyes betrayed the smile she gave him when he walked in. Gibbs wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t want to make any false promises and was forced to plow through. 

“What do you have, Abby?” he questioned seriously. All of the normal spunk in their conversation had diminished after the initial disappearance of Bishop and Dinozzo. Abby hastily dried her eyes and launched into her routine.

“As I told you earlier, I determined the bullets came from a 9mm Browning Hi Power, single-action, semi-automatic handgun or HP-35 for short. Now what’s weird is that, that kind of firearm is not sold for mainstream use in the United States. In fact it’s typically only used by the FBI for hostage negotiation purposes. It is however commonly used in the military in Latin American countries such as Chile, Argentina, and most prominently Columbia.” She spouted. 

“Now I ran my facial recognition software on the…. the… assailant we managed to capture and I got a hit. His name is Jacabo Arenas. He’s wanted for possession with the intent to distribute, aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, threatening an officer, …. and a whole list of other punishable felonies in Colombia. He was put on the no-fly list in January of 2014, but he must have skipped town regardless. Because otherwise he wouldn’t be here…” she trailed off as Gibbs pondered these results.

“Were any drugs found on him?” He questioned. Abby shook her head. Then what was a Columbian drug trafficker doing here in DC and why did he want Malloy dead? His gut told him that there was more to this attack and it was likely tied to his two missing agents.

“Thanks, Abbs. Do you have a copy?” Gibbs asked.

“Right here.” She handed him a neatly stapled stack of papers towards Gibbs and he turned for the holding room. He had a bone to pick with Jacabo Arenas. Gibbs needed answers and Arenas was about to give them to him. 

“Gibbs?” Abby’s voice interrupted him. 

“Yeah Abby?”

“Do you think this is connected to the Tony and Bishop?” she asked hopefully.

“ I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”   
……

“Wipe that smirk off your face. You have nothing to be smiling about.” Gibbs growled as he entered the room.

Jacob Arenas said nothing and continued to wear a smug look of satisfaction. His bullet wound had been stitched and wrapped hours ago at a local veteran hospital and the killer had been left to stew for the last few hours. Gibbs wondered if that had been escape, it had given the criminal a lot of time to gather his bearings. He looked extremely at ease for a person that had killed two people and injured another only twenty-four hours ago. Arenas’s hands were handcuffed tightly to the table. His posture was slouched as he drummed impatiently on the table waiting for the interrogation to begin. Gibbs slammed the file down on the table front of him and began to leaf through it.

“You’re in a lot of trouble you know that. Possession with the intent to distribute aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, threatening an officer…. You’ve just graduated to two charges of first-degree murder. Right now looking at life in prison. Considering they were both federal agents, you’re probably never going to get parole. And that’s your best option because the alternative is far worse.” Gibbs said flipping through the file. 

Areanas remained unconcerned, but Gibbs was just getting started. He knew exactly how he was going to play this now; he was going to pretend that this was just a random shooting. All he had to do was get Arenas to fall into his trap. 

“The only difference is whether you serve time in a cushy little cell in the United States or we send your ass back to Colombia and see what Santos would do with you. I’m told he doesn’t take to kindly to FARC guerilla warriors, no matter how noble their cause.”

“Santos is a fucking pig!” Arenas snarled, the anger and disgust practically radiating off of him. His Spanish accent was thick and heavy, but he had gotten his point across well enough. Gibbs considered going at him from this angle, but rapidly switched techniques to throw the man off guard. Gibbs slid a picture of Malloy’s bullet ridden corpse in front of the man. 

“ This is the man you killed. His name was Jacob Timothy Malloy. He was an attorney and a valuable asset to the National Security Agency. He had a family, a future, a wife waiting for him to come home. What-“ Gibbs continued before he was interrupted. 

“Are you sure he has a wife waiting at home?” Arenas asked mockingly. He had apparently gathered his bearings again. Asshole. 

“Excuse me?” Gibbs played dumb.

“I asked if you are sure he has a wife waiting at home?” Arenas repeats, the smirk fills half his face, and Gibbs resists the urge to wipe the smugness off of him. 

“Yes. Malloy was married.” Gibbs affirmed, inwardly thinking distantly of Bishop introducing Jake to him and of how happy he was to meet the team his wife had told him so eagerly about. Malloy was a good kid. A life cut way to short. 

“You’re not answering my question Mr. Gibbs.” Gibbs frowned, he had never told Arenas his name and as far as he knew no one else had. This man was more than just a low life on the rung of the ladder in the drug trade. He had intel on a federal agents. He was much higher up on the ladder. 

“I don’t think Ellie Bishop is waiting for Jake Malloy to come home. I don’t think she’s even at home. Neither is that friend of hers. Anthony… Dinozzo is it?” Arenas continued cockily saying each name with exaggerated pronunciation. Gibbs hands clenched into fists, this man was defiantly connected to his missing team.

“Where are my agents?” he ground out steadily. 

“You’ve been looking in the wrong place, Agent Gibbs. They’re not in America anymore. They’re not even in North America. They are a long way from home. But do not worry Mr. Gibbs, the last time I checked in, they were enjoying their stay.”

……

 

Dinozzo swung blindly, landing blow after blow, fueled with nothing but unconstrained fury and adrenaline. He was still at the disadvantage. Infected wounds and malnourishment incapacitated his weak body and he was vastly outnumbered, but the anger some how subdued any conscious thought of common sense. All he saw now was red and all he wanted was blood. Blood that was preferably not his. And he damn well got it. Crimson red splattered across his knuckles and sprayed across the floor with each hit. Alakoso was shouting obscenities loudly, switching rapidly between Spanish and English, as he ferociously tried to push Tony off of him. It did not slow Tony down. This is for Bishop! This is for every other person you fucked up in this place! This is for me! He tried to yell, but only incoherent screaming left his mouth. It must have been horrifying to listen too, but that was what he was going for… intimidating. Good enough.

 

His temporary victory and display of defiance was very short lived. Dinozzo distantly heard the sound of safeties getting clicked off and guns cocking as he was yanked roughly off Alakaso by an unfamiliar pair of hands and hauled up into the air. Sahud. Thin, muscly arms locked firmly around his arms and neck, locking him into an awkward chokehold and wrestling him away from the torturer as Tony continued to struggle violently. He bucked back and forth in an attempt to loosen Sahud’s hold on him and futility tried to land another punch on his captor, but Sahud was far more prepared than Alakaso had been and refused to let go. Dinozzo was forced to stop trying as the pain from Sahud’s hold increased with each movement.

Two new soldiers trained their guns warily on Tony ready to shoot him dead if one of the torturers gave them the signal. Alakaso stumbled up from the floor with a deranged look on his face. He must have not been accustomed to prisoners defying him nor actually being able to overcome him. Blood poured down in rivulets from the torturer’s nose and other small cuts that had fromed his face. Tony could not help but smile, as he felt oddly satisfied by the damage, even though he knew that Alakaso would undoubtedly retaliate with some form of mutilation of his own.

“What did I tell you, you fucking bastard! Never tell a person in a position of power what to do!” He roared. Tony dissolved into laughter. It was spontaneous and sudden and completely unwarranted. It just happened and he didn’t know why. There was absolutely no reason to be happy right now. Had he cracked? Had he finally caved? Had the manic laughter he’d heard during his ferocious beat down been him? 

“Wipe that smile off your face, you fucking pig!” Tony’s face turned red as he tried to stifle the laughter and tears that ran uncontrollably down his face. Damn it, why couldn’t he stop. Sahud wheezed jubilantly as he tightened his grip on the NCIS agent, he was obviously enjoying this. Tony gazed past Alakoso and at Bishop who was quivering on the floor behind him, clenching and unclenching her fists on the dirt as she grabbed desperately for something that wasn’t there. He was pretty sure she knew what was about to happen, but her eyes were fixed on the floor still unwilling to meet his. Tony knew she would not be able to do or say anything more in that state; Bishop was definitely down for the count. At least he had gotten the attention off of her.

Alakaso grabbed the crowbar that had been discarded on the floor and roughly poked the still warm end into Dinozzo’s abdomen. It was uncomfortably warm, but nowhere near as hot as it had probably been when Sahud had branded Bishop with it. Alakaso twirled the crowbar angrily in between his hands and focused on him with a disturbed, eerie gaze. Then he gripped the bar firmly between his hands like a baseball bat. I’m a meticulous man. Tony vaguely remembered Alakaso saying as the man took a few practice swings. Each swing came within millimeters of his stomach, but none landed on the target. Scare tactics. Tony giggled again uncontrollably. Suddenly, the bar flew with unconstrained force into Dinozzo’s abdomen and instantly quelling the laughter that had risen up within him. A bloom of pain shot across and quickly overwhelmed him as all the air left his body. He wheezed desperately as his legs gave out underneath him, but Sahud forced him to stand up straight again. Dinozzo barely had enough time to recover before the bar smashed into him again. Stars spun across his vision and coppery saliva fell from his lips as he struggled to prepare himself for another blow. 

It never came. 

“You have a problem with authority Mr. Dinozzo and my punishment never seems to work for more than a day or two for you. There is no point wasting my time and energy on you, if you’re going to continue to be insubordinate.” Alakaso started with a wicked glint in his eye, Tony’s stomach sank further, he did not like were this was going. 

“Only one thing has been consistent with you. Your incessant need to protect each other. Well Mr. Dinozzo, You won’t be able protect her now.” Alakaso sneered as he twirled the crow bar in between his hands. Tony struggled with renewed reverence as the torturer sauntered over to the probationary agent. 

“No! NO! Alakaso you son of a bitch! Hit me instead!” he roared desperately any thing to get his attention off of Bishop, but it was futile. Sahud made an awkward shushing noise as he struggled to move forward and tightened his grip once more. Now Tony could barely move and inch without increasing the probability of dislocating his shoulder. 

“Careful Mr. Dinozzo, you’re only adding on to her sentence.” Alakaso tsked and brought the crow bar down across Bishop’s back. He could hear the metal slam against her back and reverberate harshly throughout her body. He heard the crack of metal connecting with bone and while to Bishop’s credit, she did not scream, her groans and whimpers of pain were just as devastating to hear. Tony knew she had no energy to get fight back or even move out the way, all her energy was sucked from Sahud’s round on her. He was pretty sure Alakaso knew this too, but the blows continued to rain down.

“Stop it! Stop it! Please!” Tony yelled, tears flowed down his face. He was stupid. He was so, so stupid. Crack! He could hear Bishop’s ribs fracture and he could see the strips of flesh and blood fly off her back with each hit. But Bishop still conscious, moving weakly underneath him. God how was she still awake? No no no. Alakaso grinned sadistically up at him; the crowbar was now covered in blood. Then he slowly rested the bar on against her head as if he were holding a golf club. No no no. 

“Please.” Tony begged, one last futile attempt. He watched as the man took a few practice swings. Each swing came within millimeters of her head, but none landed on completely. Please. His pleas were ignored. Alakaso brought the bar far above his head and swung it across her skull with the poise of a professional golfer. Bishop’s groans and spastic grasps came to abrupt end as her body instantly relaxed. Crimson blood flowed out of the grisly wound on the side of her head, just above her ear, and Bishop was deathly still. Alakaso stepped away from the agent and turned toward Tony. With unprecedented accuracy he threw crowbar right at him, and though it him square in the stomach, this time Tony barely felt the pain.

“Release him. Sahud.” Alakaso ordered stalking out the cell. Tony collapsed to the ground as Sahud released him and followed his leader closely behind. The two guards trailed after, spitting on him as they did so. Then the door to the room locked shut once more, but Dinozzo could barely bring himself to care. 

“Bishop! Bishop!” He called crawling over to his fallen comrade. She didn’t respond to him, but her chest rose up and down slowly. She was still alive. Her shirt was in tatters. It was saturated in fresh blood, scorch marks, and sweat and torn in several areas as a result of the crowbar. Blood flowed steadily from the head wound, but he didn’t want to touch it in fear causing further damage. Tears burned his eyes as he surveyed the damage. This was all his fault.

“I’m sorry Bishop. I’m so sorry.” He mumbled to her broken form as he carefully gathered her into his arms. “I’m so sorry….”


	6. Chapter 6

Tony doesn’t know how long he stays like that. Muttering useless apologies as he rocks Bishop’s frail shape back and forth. Tears streaking down his face as he feels the heat that radiates from her body. The heat from the blood that should be inside her but isn’t. Instead it plasters her blonde, dirty hair to the side of her head. Instead it drenches her shirt and seeps through his as he cradles her close. Instead it is everywhere except where it needs to be. Inside of her. And the crimson just keeps on flowing. He begins to wonder how much blood a person so small can actually hold, but as the tears run harder he quickly pushes that thought away.

Whatever Bishop’s body heat does not warm, the sunlight through their sole window overcompensates for with blistering heat. As time passes, the cell had grows sweltering hot. The sun had scorched the sand beneath them, baking the small rock particles into miniature embers that now burrow uncomfortably into his skin. His throat is parched and each swallow feels like thousands of tiny needles pricking against his skin and every inhalation sounds like sandpaper was being dragged across driftwood. Reminiscent of the water he had tried to consume before. Sometime ago he realized that he had stopped sweating, and something registered within the back of his head that that was a bad thing, but he doesn’t want to drink the sole remaining bottle because that was Bishop’s. And she was going to need to drink something if she wakes up. …When she wakes up. 

Tony knows her injuries are bad… or severe… or even life threatening. He is aware enough to know that no one just takes a beating that bad or even just takes a crowbar to the head and wakes up in mere hours. And he is smart enough to know, that some never did wake up. Not with such perilous injuries. But Bishop is stronger than most people and she had proved that over again within the last few weeks in this hellhole. She had proved that to him. She had proved that to Alakaso. And he hoped, above all things, that Bishop had proved it to herself. 

As Tony sits and frets over her, it is, somewhat paradoxically, Bishop who seems at peace. Even with the nasty combination of oozing blood and ghastly bruises that cover her paling face. Dinozzo hopes as he looks down at her, that she is in the kind of dream world where he had been earlier. A dream world where he felt no pain, no agony, and no defeat. A dream world where there was no fear. A dream world that he wishes were reality. His apologies fade to silence as he listens to her disjointed breathing. 

It sounds off key, as if different parts of her chest were not rising and falling with the same distinct synchronization. It sounds painful. It suddenly occurs to him that maybe moving her was not the best idea. That moving her might have somehow made her condition worse. And now he feels selfish. Selfish for wanting to comfort her and have contact with someone who was not trying to kill him. Because what had happened here was basically all his fault. He had told her to stay quiet. He had told her to not say a word. He had basically corralled Alakaso into beating her half to death. And as he feels her blood seep onto him, he realizes it is he who was quite possibly speeding up the process. 

Tony swallows the nausea that swells up within him. He wants to recoil away from Bishop, as if that would magically make things better, but he knows it won’t. But he knows he has to try and make things better. So Tony gently shifts out from underneath her and slowly positions her body as comfortably as possible on to the dirt –covered ground beneath her. And even though Bishop provides no visible inclination that she acknowledged the shift in position, Tony can’t help but wince at her broken form on the ground. He hovers there for a moment as he tries to figure out what to do. Always have a plan. He looks at the blood on the side of her face, watching as it dribbles onto the floor. Stop the bleeding, he decides. That’s what he needs to do first. Clean the wound and stop the bleeding. Tony grimaces as he drags himself over to the remaining water bottle, avoiding his vomit that has settled into a nasty pile.

His hands tremble as he uncaps the cool liquid, Tony wants desperately to drink it, but knows he must ration it. He carefully measures a capful and tips the contents into his mouth. He savors the taste quicklu and he screws the top back on. Then slowly and steadily he peels his t-shirt over his head. Sharp prickles of pain spike up and across his chest as he aggravates his own bruised and fractured ribs. His shirt is covered with a combination of fresh and dried blood, and the latter rips away at previously healed scabs as he removes the clothing, causing some of them to bleed again. Tony ignores it; those are the least of his worries. The sun beats down on him as he feverishly rips the remains of his top into long, rectangular strips. Bandages. 

When Tony’s done he has twelve bloodied strips of cloth lied out on the floor. He immediately unscrews the water next to him and pours some of it into his palm and onto the bloodied cloth. Then cleans the shirt as best he can by running each strip through the water in his hand and then wringing the crimson out of each strip. The resulting liquid comes out a coppery brown color, but the strips are much cleaner than they were before. So he drags himself back towards Bishop, with his strips of makeshift bandages. She has barely moved since he began. 

Tony does a quick onceover and determines nothing in her condition has changed, which is more surprising to him then he would like to admit. He carefully brushes the hair away from her head injury and takes his first thorough examination of her wound. Blood bubbles and spreads, oozing slowly down onto the floor, but he can’t determine whether that’s a good thing or not and he can’t figure out where it is coming from. Facial wounds bled a lot, they always did. He wipes away the crimson with one of his wet strips as he tries to determine the source of the bleeding. As he wipes away the freshly, congealing blood he begins to see a better view of the injury and it is horrific. 

The crowbar had struck her just behind her right ear. The two flattened ends that indicated the head of the crowbar had left two distinct indentations. Bruises flared angrily around the ghastly sight, as blood began to spurt from it once more. Tony hastily layers seven strips on top of each other and then presses it against the wound. He tightly secures it around the base of her skull and stuffs the remaining strips inside the makeshift bandage as extra padding. It certainly isn’t first aid quality, but it is the best he can do considering circumstances. He wishes he could do something more for her ribs, but he never took any classes on combat training, and that is certainly what it looks like now. So he contents himself seeing that Bishop’s head is properly wrapped and that she’s out of the sun and resigns himself to his own thoughts.

Gibbs, Tim, and the rest of Team NCIS have yet to come and rescue them. Tony had never thought it would take this long. It usually never did. His team had the knack for arriving when needed at just the right of time. It had happened when Saheem had held him hostage. It had happened when Bishop had thought she could take on a trained killer by herself. Granted it took them four months to find Ziva, but that was only because they didn’t know she was missing. Once they found out it was only a matter of time. Gibbs had to already know they were missing. Yet there was no inclination of rescue at all. No wavering in confidence from Alakoso. No sniper shots from long distances away. Nothing. Nothing at all. Tony had thought that they would be able to hold out long enough for the cavalry to arrive, but as he became weighed down with his injuries and by default Bishop’s, he wasn’t so sure. Because they had Alakaso, who now seemed to be more concerned with inflicting pain than retrieving the information that was supposed to come from it. And now Tony had just royally pissed him off and there was almost no chance of him slowing down. Dinozzo wasn’t stupid; he knew the human body could only take so much. So for the first time in this debacle, Tony was forced to consider what would happen if the cavalry did not come in time. If he and Bishop were truly alone in this. Because if that was the case, then they were not going to make it very far.

He knows that Alakaso and his soldiers are out there, lurking outside the cell entrance waiting. When things get loud on the other side of the cell door, he can hear it like murmurs from within. They think he doesn’t, but he does. He knows that they’re going to walk through that door again with their guns, with their knives, with their bare hands, and with their sadistic lapdogs like Sahud. He knows, but he isn’t going to be ready.

His aching bones, stinging chest wounds, and sore ribs were stretching his limits. His knuckles are torn and swollen and they twinge uncomfortably when he flexes them. The true pain in his hands hasn’t even arrived yet, but he knows it’s coming. His swollen leg puts the rest of his body in sheer agony and Tony didn’t know what would happen if he received another stab wound. Because if the next time a knife was aimed at a more serious area, an area that wasn’t as expendable his leg, then he was as good as gone. Then no one would be around to protect Bishop. If she made it… NO. She was going to make it because if she didn’t, Tony wouldn’t know what he would do on his own. But if she didn’t…

Tony unscrews the top to the water again and drinks another capful. His migraine had begun to flare up again and he could not afford to lose focus now. This entire situation reminds himself vaguely of the film, Unbroken, in which the famed Louie Zamperini went through a series of prisoner-of-war camps. He had made it out in the end, right? Tony could not remember, but then he finds that he doesn’t really care. He realizes he wants to stop thinking completely. To just forget everything that happened in the past. Because some how being alone with his dark, depressing thoughts was just as bad as actually going through them. Going through all those happy memories only serves to remind him of just how good he had it. His own mind was providing him with its own method of physiological torture. How messed up was that? He takes in a ragged breath as he tries to clear his head of the painful thoughts that threaten to take over him. Don’t think about it. Tony murmurs to himself. Just don’t think about it. 

So he sits there, against the cell wall, trying to keep his mind as empty as possible. And he listens to Bishop’s uneven breathing as more time passes. He is pulled out of his thoughts by a pained groan. Bishop. He glances down at her to see she had somehow, clawed her way into consciousness. 

Bishop looks up at him with wide, pain filled eyes. And although her line of sight is trained on him, Tony is not sure if it is he she’s actually seeing. Her eyes are dilated again. Her pupils almost completely obscure the blue irises, but this time he knows it isn’t a result of the drugs, but that information doesn’t make him feel any more confident of this current situation. Bishop’s eyes seem to be dancing around in her head* and they travel aimlessly around the room, as she takes raspy, uneven breaths. The sight makes Tony feel uneasy, it doesn’t look normal to him. It was the opposite of normal, but there is nothing he can do. He has to get her to focus on him.

“Bishop… Bishop can you hear me?” Tony asked hesitantly. Her entire body is trembling and for a second Tony thinks she hasn’t heard or even understood him, but then her eyes stop moving sporadically and focus on him. Or at least they try to focus on him; instead they seem to vibrate left and right, in sync with her trembling form. Blood has already begun to seep through the makeshift bandage, but he is pleased to see that it was flowing at a much lesser rate than before. That was good. She reaches shakily up to feel her head dressing, but he hastily pushes her hand away as he continues examine the wound.

“You have to stop moving Bishop. You’re only hurting yourself more.” He instructs, but Bishop is beyond listening as she weakly reaches out again. So he grabs her wrists and gently forces it back down by her side. “You have to stay still.”

Bishop coughs painfully as she attempts for the third time and Tony settles with taking her hand in his in order to prevent her from harming herself further.

“Do you remember what happened?” Tony asked anxiously. It shocks him to hear how gravely and weak his own voice sounds, but he plows through. Desperately trying to fulfill his job of protecting her and evaluate the amount and severity of the damage. 

“It- it hurts…” Bishop managed to get out. Her voice sounds garbled and congested and Tony knows it probably took all of her energy to state the painfully obvious, but he is also acutely aware that she didn’t actually answer his question. 

“Ellie, I know it hurts, but you have to focus. Do you remember what happened?” Tony reiterated once more. He probably should have waited until she was more clearheaded, but he had no idea when that was going to be. All he knows is that he needs to assess the damage, to have some sort of idea of life threatening this was going to be.

“Huh-h- he hit me?” Her words blend together slightly and it sounds as if she’s asking him a question rather than answering it. But she has answered it. Tony wanted to feel relieved, but he knows that it is only a small, if not temporary victory and Bishop is still not off the hook.

Tony has to keep her talking. Her teeth are chattering. As if she was cold, even though that isn’t possible because the current temperature has practically turned this room into an oven. He does not have to be a doctor to determine that that wasn’t normal.

“Yeah, he did Bishop. He thought he could keep you down with a crowbar. But you showed him. I guess it runs in the Bishop blood right?” Tony comforts morbidly; with a new found sense of dark humor.

“W- why did he hit me?” His heart breaks as he hears the confusion in her voice, but he refuses to answer her. Something tells him that telling her why would not be the best idea. Fortunately, Bishop does not seem to be deadest on receiving an answer anyway as she airily jumps to the completely different topic.

“Ja-Jake’s going to kill me…” Bishop murmurs as her eyes begin to shift across the room again and the grip on his hand starts to weaken.

“Why?” Tony asked. Keep her talking. Keep her talking. He thinks to himself as he watches crimson fall from his poorly constructed bandage.

“H-he thought th-that being an NCIS A-agent was t-to dangerous.” Bishop bit through painfully. “W-well I-I sh-showed him.” 

Her stuttering grows worse as she collapses into a coughing fit. He can see her bloodied back as she tries to lift herself off the ground and curses himself for not doing anything about her back. Because there was nothing you could do his inner self tries to reason, but he pushed that thought away. There was something that could be done; there was always something that could be done. 

“It’s s-so cold, T-tony. W-why is it so cold?” Bishop asks as another tremor rocks her body. Her words were becoming garbled and unclear, slowly shifting from the previous stuttered, staccato like before. He needs to do something, anything to help.

“You… you should drink something.” He murmurs as he backs away from her. Tony’s vision blurs as he drags himself back to where he left the water bottle near the entrance. He can hear the murmurs from outside, something must be going on out there, but those sons of bitches deserved what ever was causing the ruckus. He had other priorities to take care of. 

“I-I see colors,” his partner slurs out from behind him. “Do you see colors?” Her hand lifts up and waves through the air.

“No. I don’t see any colors. You need to drink.” Tony says firmly because even if she says she’s cold, he is sure as hell that she’s dehydrated. Especially when he’s this parched. Bishop focuses back on him and her eyes do that thing again. The thing where they vibrate back and forth, even when she looks directly at him. He drinks a swig out of the bottle himself, and then carefully pours out some of the remaining water into her mouth. He notices, with a sinking feeling, that her lips had a blue tinge to them. Was that normal? Don’t think about it. Bishop sputters as she tries to swallow and in the end she doesn’t keep any of it down. Instead the liquid dribbles down her chin and onto the floor as is evaporates into the air almost immediately.

“Do you want to try again?” Tony prods gently. Bishop dissolves into another coughing fit as she shakes her head, which leads to Dinozzo ultimately deciding against it. A horrific series of rattling breaths, gurgling noise, and… tutting wrack her body. What was that noise? He waits until her coughing has subsided, but he can still hear the tutting sound. It sounds distant and muted, but it sounds familiar. Why does it sound familiar? He is yanked out of these musings as he feels Bishop’s hand go slack in his hand.

“Bishop? Ellie! Look at me!” he commanded, instantly alert. Bishop’s gaze shifts lazily over to him and he can literally see the attentiveness leave her eyes, only to be overcome with a cloudy haze. Then her eyes roll into the back of her head and everything is quiet. Only the distinct tutting could be heard in the background. No no no. For a second he thinks this is it and that all of it is over, but what happens next only proves to him that this is only the beginning. 

All of sudden, all of Bishop’s muscles contract and Tony hears the broken and cracked bones shift painfully with the movement as the younger agent tenses unexpectedly. A guttural cry escapes her throat as her eyes roll back into place and then she’s convulsing. Her limbs begin to jerk sharply, a massive amplification of the mere trembling that dominated her before. Bishop’s fists were balled tightly together and her ankles spasms inwardly as her legs try to pull in different directions. Her jaw contracts downward with every sharp movement of her arms and each watery… or bloody exhale became the dominant sound in the room as she struggles to breathe through the contractions. 

He is forced to move out the way to avoid her spastic movements. A seizure. What the hell was he supposed to do about a seizure? From what he’s remembered from health class, Tony knows he’s supposed to stay out of the way and let her ride it out, but the spasms show no sign of slowing down. Tony is concerned she’s going to injure herself further. And by the way her jaw is sporadically clenching, he’s worried that at the very least Bishop might bite her tongue. His world spins as he stifles his want to cry. Don’t break down now. Not now. She needs you. The tutting sound grows louder in the background. Only now it sounds like a clicking. The murmuring has increased with it. What the fuck is going on? Tony turns his attentions back on Bishop whose tremors are going through her with violent ferocity. Her guttural groans make him want to cover his ears. Why can’t he do anything? Then….

~ Beep- beep- beep-~

Tony freezes as he hears the dreaded sound of the key code of the cell door being open. Fuck. His blood runs cold. The world had to be kidding him right now. He moves himself in front of his seizing companion as if he can stop Alakaso and his rookies from doing anymore harm. He already knows it’s futile, but he’s going to go to his grave trying if he has to. 

The door slams open and he realizes what the tutting noise is. Machine gun fire. Tony finds himself staring into the barrel of gun. A machine gun to be exact. The gun’s holder isn’t Alakaso, as Tony had come to expect, neither is he dressed like any of the plethora of guards that shift through each day. Instead it is a young, muscular man who is decked in head to toe with brownish, green camouflage wear. This had to be one of Alakoso’s ‘buddies’. Instinct overrides him as he tries to block Bishop from view, but Bishop’s pained gasps alert him to her presence anyways.

“Stay away from her! Shoot me if you have to, but stay away from her.” Tony begs desperately. The man does a quick glance over the two of them, but instead of advancing on them he stops, for some he looks very confused.

“Americanos?” he murmurs out loud with a very heavy Spanish accent. The barrel of the gun drops away from them as the man apparently determines that they are not a serious threat. Tony eyes the man warily as he backs up into to the hallway and yells something in Spanish over the fading machine gun fire. Within minutes, three more men enter the room. They are all wearing the same uniform and each of them holds a machinegun in hand. The shortest of the three, wrinkles his nose in disgust as he takes in the cell and his occupants, and Tony shivers as the man’s eyes narrow as he focuses on him.

“Stay away from us!” He yells hoarsely. Tony is pretty sure his incessant wheezing, bothersome migraine, and growing fatigue is taking away from the intimidation that his voice is supposed to convey, but he can’t give up. He can not look weak in front of them. The shortest man in the uniform, lifts a radio to his mouth and starts muttering rapid Spanish into it. Jesus. How many of them were there?

A few moments later, one final man makes his way into his room. Like Sahud when compared to Alakaso, this man lumbers over all of the others. He is nowhere near as lean and muscular as the others, but he’s holding a large black bag in one hand and that in itself is enough to worry Tony. The bag looks vaguely like the bag of knives Alakaso tortured him with mere days ago and Tony resists the urge to cringe away from it. Hadn’t they had enough? This man takes one look at the two of them and then orders something in a language he can’t understand. Then one man, the one who had first entered the room, starts to move in on him. 

“Stay away-“ Tony flails futilely out at them, trying to rile up the anger that had allowed him to overcome Alakaso, as he tries to keep them away from Bishop. He won’t let them hurt her. Unfortunatel,y one of the guards grabs him and body slams him roughly onto the ground. He bucks against him as he struggles to get back up, but the younger man obviously has the upper hand. His vision blurs as the man forces him to stay on the ground. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see two men, one of them holding the black bag, approach his shaking companion. 

“Get away from her.” Tony manages the mutter one last time, but this time he isn’t sure if anyone can even hear him. The man restraining him yells something at the other two men in the room, who quickly leave with machine guns in hand. He distantly hears the clicking of machine gun rattle start up again and his vision grows fuzzy. Then his world fades to black.

…_______…………………_______………_______……………_____…………………………

The shaky, erratic eye movement I was trying horribly to describe is called Nystagmus. It is a condition of involuntary (or voluntary, in rare cases) eye movement. Due to the involuntary movement of the eye, it is often called "dancing eyes". 

Look up Nystagmus in Wikipedia for a gif of what this phenomenon looks like. It won’t let me post a link for some reason.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony’s unconsciousness does not claim him for long. Instead, his vision fades in and out, giving him blurred, incoherent snippets of the events occurring around him. His hearing suffers the same fate and for a second, he thinks he had gone deaf because all he can hear is the rushing of blood in his ears. Maybe it was the left over adrenaline pumping blood furiously through his veins. Or maybe the soldier just hit him to hard; his mind is not working straight right now. Regardless of the cause, it is only that and the dull roar of yelling and shouting that he hears. 

The first time Tony returns to consciousness, it is gradual. He’s still in the holding cell. First, his hearing rushes back. The ratatat of the machine guns have warped into something that sounds akin to cannons firing in slow motion. The tutting noise has turned into a Boom Boom Boom and it echoes forcefully through his head. A voice from somewhere above him is yelling Spanish, overlapping with several others, but it sounds like it’s running through molasses. As his sensations begin to return, he realizes that one of the soldiers still has their arms wrapped tightly around his waist and neck and his firm grip alludes to the soldier’s persistence to not let him go. His limbs are lethargic and heavy from the presumed disuse and when he tries to move them they prickle like needles up and down his skin. The soldier’s grip reminds him distinctly of the belt that Alakaso had wrapped around his neck only hours before and Tony’s heartbeat spikes as he begins to panic. But when Dinozzo reflexively struggles, the soldier’s gloved hands only wring together closer. His attempts do not matter anyway because anytime Tony so much as twitches his head, the man behind him tightens his hold. And that only forces Tony to look in front of him, at the three fuzzy-looking figures hovering over Bishop, doing gods know what. And he can’t even fucking move. His vision succumbs to darkness again.

When Tony awakes the second time, two more soldiers are hoisting him up and his feet are kicking up dust as they drag him across the floor. His head is spinning but is coherent enough to realize that he is no longer in the cell, but is instead being shuttled down a series of hallways. All of which feel just as hot and miserable as the tiny chamber they’d been locked up in. The guards carrying him haven’t even noticed he’d awoken as Dinozzo blearily blinks around at his streaked, blurry surroundings. Bishop is nowhere to be seen, neither are any of the men that were in the cell with them. That realization sets a dark seed of despair and hopelessness in his stomach. He was supposed to protect her. The tears threaten to burn his eyes and the nausea wells up within him. He had failed. His foot hits something with a thump and then another thump, but the men holding him barely slow down. Tony refocuses his blurry vision on the ground below him. What was that? An arm. An arm that connects to a very bloodied, very bullet riddled, and very dead body. The dead man’s eyes gaze glassily up at him and congealed blood falls slowly out of the massive hole in the side of his head. The blood of the dead soak into his pants legs and Tony waits for the nausea to overwhelm him. He waits for his stomach to try to heave up anything else that had been lucky enough to keep down. But it doesn’t come. Then Tony realizes he does not bothered at all by seeing the dead corpse nor does he feel bad for the man. Not even a little bit. Then the corpse is gone as they continue to drag him down the corridors. 

The body count continues to rack up as they move a long and the stench of death overcomes him. So many bullets and so many bodies. He had only seen a few men in the cell plus the two holding him now. Not nearly enough to take down this many insurgents. How many of them were there? 

“Where-g… Where is she?” Tony asked. He stumbled over his words as he struggles to form the question. He has to make sure Ellie hasn’t been added to the list. He has to make sure she’s okay. “What did you with her?”

Tony groans when the men cease their footsteps and drop him unceremoniously onto the ground. The dizziness comes back in full force. One growls something in Spanish at him and then delivers a grinding kick to his ribs, but Tony has been expecting something like this to happen and he’d already steeled himself for it. However, it doesn’t mean the blow hurts any less. He prepares for another kick as he anxiously sucks more air end, but the other soldier has yanked the man away from him and is yelling something in Spanish. Tony turns so that he is facing away from them, fearing further retaliation, and he immediately regrets doing so. 

The toothy grin, charcoal skin, and the milky eye are unmistakable. Sahud. A bullet has neatly pierced a small hole in the left side of his head and brain matter spill out the right. Yet the corpse wears the still wears the same toothy grin and stares at him with the same empty gaze he wore when they were in the room together. Tony can practically hear the childish wheezing laughter coming out of Sahud’s bloody lips. Son of a bitch. Sahud didn’t deserve such a quick and easy death. He deserved to suffer. Tony shuddered. Abruptly, he is ripped backward by the belt loops of his cargo pants and hoisted up against the wall. It was the guard who had kicked him earlier. Tony looks hastily for the other guard and sees him further down the hall, a walkie-talkie pressed against his mouth. That leaves him alone with the other man. 

The guard presses his gun against Tony’s neck and uses the other arm to keep him in place. Tony relents easily, there is no point in struggling, and it would only bring back more pain and inevitable death. But maybe death is what he wanted. He doesn’t know anymore. The guard leans in so closely that if Tony’ s nose wasn’t so broken and deformed he probably would have smelled his nasty breath. In broken English, the guard mutters. “Goodnight little shit.” Then a sweet smelling cloth is shoved against his face and the world fades dark once more.

Unconsciousness was a weird thing. There were no dreaming or imaginary figures. Just a wide expanse of empty darkness. No feeling at all. It is like a limbo of sorts. Anything was better than reality though. Which is why he tries to resist, when the lights pull him out.

The next time his eyes open, it is the last time. Dinozzo startles awake but he immediately finds he cannot move. His mind was still hazy from the most recent round of unconsciousness, but he feels clearer headed than he had in days. A high pitched beeping noise echoes in the room and as Tony gains more and more clarity and he realizes he’s lying on some type of military cot. It’s regrettably the softest thing he’s laid on in weeks, but he can’t bring himself to enjoy it. Where was he? Tony runs his swollen tongue over his chapped lips, trying to well some moisture in them as he prepares to get a better awareness of his surroundings. Instead his tongue dries up in the heated air and refuses to fit comfortably in his mouth. Fuck. His saliva tasted vaguely of copper, but he chooses to ignore it, there was no other way to get rid of it. 

His body refuses to listen to his commands. This time however it’s not from the lethargy, but because his hands are tied or rather, handcuffed to something. He lazily blinked around trying to figure out where he was or rather where he wasn’t. The cell was gone, replaced with this strangely, quaint room with a yellowish tint to it. The walls are a homely, mustard beige, the lights are yellow, even the sheets he lies on radiate the same putrid, musty color. Cracks run up the wall as chipped wallpaper falls away from the sides. The ceiling is water marked and leaking in one corner. Maybe it is not as different as the original cell. The only difference that distinctly sets them apart is the atmosphere. Unlike the atmosphere of the previous holding room, where the air was dry and arid, the atmosphere in this one is humid and heavy. And though it is not retain the oven temperatures of the cell, the room he’s in is more than hot enough. The crummy, yellow sheets beneath him are soaked thoroughly with his sweat. Or at least he hopes its sweat.

Tony does not know how to feel about this sudden change of scenery because at least the cell gave him some sense of security. At least he had known who was coming through those doors. Now all he could remember was the flashes of men carrying machine guns. The men who had taken Bishop. The men who were no longer here now. And he had no idea when they would come running through those doors. He had no idea when they when they would come back to finish him off. Then he remembered all the bodies in the hallways and Sahud’s slowly rotting corpse. Alakaso would not have killed his own lapdog would he? His own men? Then Tony remembers the evil glint in his eye, his complete disregard for the care of anyone, his lack of disrespect for his co-workers. Of course he would. Alakaso would do anything just to prove a point and reassert his power. 

Dinozzo swallows roughly as he shifts his position. For some reason he feels lightheaded and more clearheaded than usual, but it brings agonizing clarity to the injuries he’s suffered. An acute wave of pain overcomes him. His chest burned whenever he inhaled to deeply and he could see the nasty scar tissue. Nausea begins to take its roots. Tony groans as he gives himself the usual check over, checking for any new injuries. A rusty needle punctures the scarred skin of his left forearm and a tube attached to it runs up his arm to an IV bag holding a strange clear liquid. He wants to rip it out of his arm because having mysterious liquids injected into him are not his idea of fun, even if it makes him the most clear headed he’s been in days. Bishop’s drug induce meltdown has been permanently etched in his brain. Unfortunately, the restraints hinder his attempt and ultimately make his decision for him. It refuses to let him move. His right hand is cuffed tightly to the metal bar attached to the side of the bed with very metal handcuffs, and he can’t move it any further than the three inches the chain stretches. 

It both surprises and unnerves him on how clean his body is. His chest is bare and he can see that most of the crusted blood and gritty dirt have been scrubbed away. Somehow that makes him feel more naked and vulnerable than he had before because he can’t remember when they were cleaned. The thought of having someone hands around him… Alakaso and his belt come to mind. The only exception is the palms of his hands, which have dark black marks covering his fingertips. Black marks… Ink? The ghastly state his body is in also bothered him. His pants legs had been crudely cut into makeshift shorts. The knife wound had finally scabbed over and had stopped oozing pus and blood, but the surrounding tissue had turned black around the edges and dead skin flaked from it. Before he was able to pretend that his injuries weren’t as scarring as they actually were, but now they’re visible. And now the extent of his scars are clearer and realer than the ever before. 

Tony swallows back peels of queasiness as he looks around the room. The beeping noise is coming from two ancient machines in the corner of the room directly behind him, but the heavy breathing comes from two other occupants in the room. They are heavily tattooed with what looks to be gang insignias, but both are unconscious and both are restrained, and none of them are Bishop so he doesn’t pay them much attention. 

His cot is directly in front the only entrance into the room and he finds it unnerving not knowing what’s outside those doors. Tony yanks feebly at the restraints, ignoring the protests of pain radiating from his body. He has to find Bishop. It is the only though that is constantly reiterating itself in his mind. Which is probably, why he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching the door.

The door slams open and Tony flinches from the loud noise. 

“El paciente se ha estabilizado, pero no debe despertar para otra hora o dos” A short dark skinned man trails off as he enters the room when he realizes that Tony is awake. He is short, stubby, and a little on the pudgy side with a receding hairline and large glasses and wears dirty blue scrubs.Tony watches warily as two other men follow behind him. The first, unlike the doctor, eludes formidable power. He wears a green, military-like uniform with an array of various badges covering it. Brown eyes stare at him with an indecipherable coldness and a spattering of grey hair covers his buzz cut hairstyle. His arms clasped firmly around his back and he stood with his feet set firmly apart. Military. A lanky, dark-skinned man with round glasses follows meekly behind.

“Can you give me your name?” The larger man asked with a distinct Spanish accent, his voice is a deep, rough edged baritone. He definitely was not in the United States any more Tony deducted. Everyone who Tony had spoken too, aside from Bishop, had the same peculiar accent. So where was he?

Tony remains silent. It was another trick from Alakaso. If these guys thought they were getting anything they were mistaken. The man’s eyes narrowed.

“ You are American? Yes?” The grey-haired man asked, switching tactics. Tony cursed in his mind as he reflexively gave a jerky half nod. The grey haired man nodded to the scrawny man beside him who hastily began writing down something on a clipboard. Tony ground his teeth together in frustration. Another wave of pain rocks his body, but he refuses to show his weakness. It seems as if he’s failed spectacularly. The only general blinks and then his eyes soften a shade.

“Look, the only way I can give your information to the American Embassy, is if I have your name and information to go with it.” When the Tony only blinks in response, the man grabs the clipboard away from the lanky man and shoves it in his face. The writing on the paper is almost completely written in Spanish, but from what he can decipher from his time in high school, the translations allude to it being more legitimate.

“M-my name is Anthony Dinozzo.” Tony gasps out in pain. His cracked ribs shift against each other causing the pain the spike a level again. The clipboard disappears from view as the lanky man begins hastily writing things down.

“Good. Now what were you doing in Columbia?” the man asks. Tony almost sputters in disbelief. His situation had to be obvious. No. no no no. He had priorities.

“Where is Bishop?” he demands with as much power he could put behind his voice and completely ignored the question.

“Bishop?” he asks. The name lingers on his tongue, like he’s trying the name out. “Bishop. Is that your friend? The blonde girl?” 

“Where is she?” Tony grounds out slowly. 

“I am asking the questions here. What were you doing in Columbia?” The grey-haired asked firmly. 

“L..look. I’m a federal agent from the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. You have my name. You have my nationality. You have my prints.” Tony said, waving his black, ink-dipped fingertips in the air. “You’ve probably already run them. So it’s only a m-matter of time. So where is she?”

The man looked dumbfounded, as did his coworkers. 

“Your friend is safe.” The man finally said. “Some of my men are looking after her.”  
Tony didn’t trust a word that came out of this man’s mouth..

“Why isn’t she here?” Tony asks, but he doesn’t receive an answer.

“Raul. When the prints from the database come in alert the American Embassy.” He orders. Raul nods and hastily disappears out the door. The man gets up to follow.  
“And for God’s sake Enrique, give the man some pain killers. He’s obviously in pain”

“Aye, General.” Enrique says as the general leaves. Enrique fishes a syringe out of his pocket filled with about 5mm of a strange blue liquid and inserts it into the iv bag attached to him. As another spasm rocks his body, Tony doesn’t even struggle. He just lets it happen.

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Whatever drug had been injected into him sends Dinozzo back to the dream world of sorts. The kind with no pain and agony. It had been over two weeks since he’d received any painkiller. He had been forced to live alone as his body tried to combat the agony. Seemingly, his bodily defenses never really tried hard. Now he felt like he was floating on a cloud. Although the injuries were obviously still there, nothing bothered him. Nothing bothered him now. Unfortunately, the drugs have a down side. It zaps the energy and motivation from him and perhaps, leaves him a little bit too carefree. Tony finds out pretty quickly he can’t even move or lift his head, much less the rest of himself. He’s a prisoner to his own body.

He can still hear, clear as day. Tony can listen to the medic’s whistling and the slow shuffle he makes across the room. He can hear the steady breathing from the additional patients and the steady beeping form the machines behind them. But due to his inability to move his head, he can only see the glimpses of things that go on around him. He finds that he doesn’t really care about much either. He can only see the ceiling and it’s strangely aesthetic looking patterns and the face of the pudgy doctor as he looms over them, but to him it’s like watching TV. The room slowly cools down as the hours pass and the sun sets in the distance. Dinozzo realizes he can’t stare at the walls forever. So eventually he gives up and ends up closing his eyes, listening to the medic whistle, and daydreaming about the events of his past. The whistling abruptly stops when the door opens again. Unlike the previous time, it creaks slowly opened. Or at least that’s what it sounds like. His eyes are closed.

“Lieutenant.” Enrique says. “I thought you were debriefing?”

He sounds surprised. There’s a low mumbled reply and then Tony hears the crinkle of paper being exchanged. What was happening? The soft shuffle fades into the distance as Enrique leaves the room. They are replaced with heavy footsteps, much like the general’s earlier. Tony refuses to open his eyes and entertain the individual. There is a soft scrape as a chair is pulled up to the side if his bed. 

“You can open your eyes now, Mr. Dinozzo.” Tony’s blood runs cold. Alakaso. The monitor behind him beeps erratically as his pulse spikes. His eyes fly open, as the man in question quickly yanks the diodes attached to him away. The machines go silent. It does not calm his pulse, which feels like he’s about to burst a blood vessel.

Alakaso sits in front him with his steely glint in his eyes and an eerily crooked smile on his face. There was butterfly tape stapled across his face. No doubt a result of Tony’s attempted attack on him earlier. He wears the same uniform as the general did earlier, although there are fewer badges. Was he one of them? 

“I know what you’re thinking Mr. Dinozzo. What is this?” Alakaso says gleefully. Tony inwardly frowns. Alakaso sounds different. Granted he was never normal, but his tone had taken on a sadistic, irrational quality. His torturer gets up and begins looking at the items in the room. Obviously, Tony was not going anywhere. 

“Surprise! I’m in the army!” he says with sickening sweetness. There is a crazy glint in Alakaso’s eyes as he takes a particular interest in the surgical tools. “Or at least for all extensive purposes I am.”

Tony’s stomach sank to a rock as he mulled over this new information. A psychopathic torturer, who had beaten Bishop and himself for days on end, had just bribed a doctor and had locked himself in a room with the person he was trying to get information from. And Tony could not even fucking move. The airy painlessness suddenly felt like a fucking joke. Alakaso picks up a long needle from the array of surgical appliances on the chair and contemplates him boringly. 

“What did they give, Mr. Dinozzo, to make you so weak?” Alakaso fishes a needle of his own out of his pocket and injects the clear liquid contents into his IV bag. 

“Adrenaline” Alakaso says absentmindedly. “You can’t give me information when you sit like a, how do you Americans say it… A vegetable.” 

Nothing happens for a moment. Then Tony’s heart rate spikes and it feels like his chest is going to burst. He flings himself upward, panting like he had just sprinted a marathon, and then just as quickly collapses backwards onto the bed. The airy painlessness was gone, replaced with a sudden clarity and the dull ache of his injuries. He suspected the pain would grow worse as he went along. 

“That’s better.” Alakaso murmurs. The military uniform clad man stands over him again. Alakaso traces the needle up and down his arm. The cold sharp end trails his arm intimidatingly and causes goose bumps to rise up on his skin.

“You are making my work very frustrating. Someone notified the Columbian Armed Forces before they were supposed to. Before I got the necessary information out of you two. I’m sure you had something to do with that.” The needle stops and lingers just to the left of his right soldier. Tony swallows. Alakaso had gone crazy. There was no way and hell he could have alerted the armed forces. He had been trapped in the cell the whole time. He hadn’t even known that they were in Colombia. Although that did mean that the army was on his side, even if their competence was failing him right now. 

“Do not think you’re safe in here, Mr. Dinozzo. The Armed Forces do their jobs with the best of intentions, but they are not well paid. A little currency can sway anyone’s mind.” Alakaso murmured. The needle pauses it’s carefree trek across Tony’s chest stopping just below his right shoulder. Alakaso presses down the needle and it becomes slowly imbedded into his skin. Like meat on a skewer. Tony grinds his teeth together as he watches the ribbon of crimson blood trails its way neatly down his shoulder. It was obviously intended to hurt, but oddly, Tony can’t feel much pain, even when he recoils from the needles. It must have been the drugs the medic gave him earlier. 

Alakaso doesn’t seem to like the result either. His unusually cold, clammy hands wipe the trail of blood away from Dinozzo’s skin and yank the needle out of the NCIS agent’s shoulder. He flicks it in Tony’s face. Then he kicks the chair clear across the room. The wooden object shatters into pieces as it hits the wall. Tony wallowed harshly as the ‘lieutenant’ moves to the other side of the room with the empty syringe. He had never seen someone grow so mad in such a short period of time.

Alakaso stalks toward one of the sleeping tattooed men in the beds adjacent from Tony.

“I have power. I have control. I have influence. I can do whatever I want.” Alakaso yellows, his voice crescendoing with every statement. Tony looks on nervously, as his torturer feels the syringe with air and lifts it towards the IV drip going into the man’s arm slowly and deliberately. He realizes it is done with such exact precision, just to make sure Tony can witness the horrific act that is about to occur. Then without hesitation, Alakaso injects the air bubbles into the man’s IV drip. Tony can barely watch as the air bubbles slowly make their way down the oblivious man’s arm and disappear under the bandages. Nothing happens at first, then the handcuffed man’s body surges upwards. The beeping noise is replaced with a toneless, monosyllabic bleep and the unnamed man collapses back onto his cot. His chest is no longer rising. The man is dead. But Alakaso doesn’t so much as blink. He merely yanks the diodes attached to him away and the machines go silent. 

“We all have choices Mr. Dinozzo.” Alakaso’s words are said with a deliberate, forced calmness as he leans over the dead man with clenched fists. As if he’s trying to reign his anger under control. When Alakaso looks at Tony again, he looks composed again, as if he didn’t loose his cool only moments before.

“You want to know where Bishop is. I want to know the passwords. Give me what I want and I will bring her to you and I will fast pass you and the woman’s information to the American embassy. You will both be sitting in your comfortable American home by the end of the week.” The words were spoken with such sincerity that had Tony not suffered directly under the hands of this sadistic man, he would have actually believed him. Then Alakaso’s voice takes on the familiar sinister tone.

“Do not give me what I want and I will come in again and again and again. Then I will kill him.” He said jutting a finger to the remaining man in the corner of the room. 

“Then I will kill you. Then I will kill Bishop.” The steely glint is now focused solely on Tony. “Or maybe I will kill Bishop and make you watch. Who knows? Choices… choices. I’ll leave you to think about that. Just some food for thought.” 

The syringe clatters to the floor and Alakaso leaves the room.

 

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Days pass by and Alakaso stays true to his promise. Each day the medic, Enrique, willingly accepts the monetary bribes given to him and leaves the room. Each day Alakaso injects a shot of adrenaline to shock him out of his ‘vegetative’ state and each day he carves patterns into his skin with the same dirty needle. And each day Alakaso’s behavior becomes more and more erratic. More and more dangerous. And each day, Tony swallows the pain because he doesn’t know the codes and he is unwilling and unable to give Alakaso the information he wants. And day the general never comes back. Only the medic does and he only pretends that whatever went on between Tony and Alakaso, never happened. Even when he can see fresh blossoms of blood staining the yellow sheets.

Tony wakes up from yet another drug induced slumber to a loud racket of noise. He blearily opens his eyes and he sees Alakaso again, leaning against the door in his contradictory uniform with a smirk on his face. Tony steels himself for what is about to come. This time he’s got more people with him and he immediately thinks back to Sahud. They were both wearing military uniforms, but that has come to mean next to nothing. However with these two additional arrivals there comes a very familiar blonde head of hair. Bishop. Two men lift her from a gurney and dump her unceremoniously onto the bed next to him. 

Bishop immediately curls to her left side. She’s trembling, but not with the erratic movements of the seizure he’d seen days earlier. Her head is wrapped in bandages, much better than his own frantic attempts earlier, but that seemed to be the only thing they had repaired. Judging from the way she was struggling to remain as still as possible and was heavily favoring her right side, her ribs were still giving her trouble. He can hear her short, frantic breathes from across the room. Her back must be giving her hell. The only silver lining is that they must have washed her down as well, because the marks, cuts, and bruises are much more clear than before. However she still looks to be in great deal of pain, but at least she is alive. Tony is elated to see her, regardless of the torturer that stands tauntingly in the doorway.

‘Bishop.” He murmurs out loud. He receives no response. She’s facing his direction and is obviously awake, but she refuses to look at or answer him. Her knees are curled as close as she can get them against her chest and her arms are cradling her lower ribs in either and effort to alleviate the pain or to compose herself. The single person military cot appears to engulf her as she shakes. The entire scene makes her appear to be even smaller than usual. He can see the tears running down her eyes.

“See, Mr. Dinozzo. Ellie knows when to talk.” Alakaso said drifting over towards the analyst and resting a hand on her shoulders. Tony watches Bishop tries to disappear into the sheets of the bed. “She learned that withholding the information, wasn’t the smartest idea after all.”

Tony’s heart sunk. Bishop had released vital and potentially dangerous information to a psychopathic murderer. That’s why she was crying. That was why wouldn’t meet his eyes or even look in his direction. 

“You could learn something from her, Mr. Dinozzo.” Alakaso murmurs as he starts rubbing circles up and down her back. “It would have cut this project down to a much shorter period of time.”

Tony remains silent. 

“Anyways. I always keep my promises and once this one works out. I will keep my promise to you both.” He takes out a piece of paper from his pocket and Tony vaguely recognizes it as the piece of paper that the General was to send to the embassy. So all this time the embassy hadn’t known. Why did he put so much trust in them?

“I will send this in tomorrow. I’m sure your government will appreciate your service.” He says in a sickeningly sweet voice. His hand lingers on Bishop’s back for an uncomfortable moment, perhaps for an uncessary period of time, and then he leaves. The two men trail after him, dollar sings in their eyes. 

“Damn it!” Tony wheezes angrily to no one in particular. His anger dissipates into a coughing attack. He’s not mad at Bishop. He can’t be. Not after what she’s been through. What they’ve both been through. But now they’re going to be responsible for whatever impending destruction those files had on them. Whatever happens next is going to be their fault. 

He hears a murmur from the left side of his bed. Bishop.

“What?” he calls. Bishop is looking directly at him. Her eyes are still dancing but another uncomfortable quality has arisen in them. The familiar empty look in her gaze. Something’s off about it this time. Something is strange. Bishop repeats what she said earlier and this time he can hear it clear as day. 

“I l-lied.”


	8. Chapter 8

Bear with me guys. I’m going to try a ‘24’ style chapter. For those of you who don’t understand the reference… Good luck.

 

Two days earlier…

“Leon.” 

The short, authoritative statement rolled easily off his tongue, despite the exhaustion and somberness the marine had faced in the past couple of weeks. He had let two of his best agents go missing under his watch, had been to a funeral of another, and had been forced to replace them all with other agents by the man sitting directly in front of him. Replaced. The word disgusted him. It wasn’t that the replacements were bad; Joseph Keller and Alex Clevenger were shining recruits. Both had lengthy resumes and extensive experience that defended each of their placements into his unit and both had received glowing recommendations from whomever they previously worked with. They definitely were not bad, but to sit them down at the original owners desk… No. He had replaced those seats too many times and he wasn’t about to do it again. To do so now would mean that the team had given up on them. To admit they had lost whatever battle they’d been fighting. To admit that they’d given up and they have not. Not yet. None of them had. Not when their agents could still be alive. Not when they hadn’t found any… bodies. 

Yet, the shorter man had insisted that Gibbs take these new recruits because the unit could not carry on with just the two of them and Timothy was already dead on his feet. So Gibbs had grudgingly accepted them. And now the strapping, forty-something year old man with beach blonde hair, overly attentive blue eyes, and the looks and exuberance of someone in his twenties and the petite, red haired woman with an attitude to match were now staples in his office. Invading his space and sitting at desks that belonged to other people. Now this entirely different ‘team’ stood in Vance’s office at Leon’s command, overworked and fatigued. All wearing bags under their eyes and standing with sandbags attached to their feet. A testament how long they’d worked tirelessly to find a solution. 

Vance was wearing his usual black pinstripe suit and leaned against the glossy, oak desk that contrasted sharply against the maroon colors of the room. A familiar beige folder rested in his hands.

“Gibbs.” Vance nodded in greeting as he made his way over to the former marine. The tension between the two was palpable as Gibb’s piercing, blue eyes battled with Leon’s intense, brown ones. Mcgee and the other two agents stood wearily behind their boss, as the director approached. All of sudden, the vast office felt constricted and punitive as the tension reached its climax. Vance set the file on the table front of him and slid it towards Gibbs. The grey haired man made no move towards it.

“Goddamn it Gibbs. Open the damn file.” Leon barked the frustration. The folder was thin. It only held a few sheets of yellow paper marked with NCIS’s standard ‘confidential’ stamp and emblazed with Columbia’s administrative seal. A cursory glance revealed only a few memos, a lab report, and a letter. Most of the documents were written in Spanish.

“What the hell is this suppose to mean, Leon?” Gibbs questioned as he leafed through its contents. 

“Remember Areñas, the Colombian drug dealer from a few weeks ago?” Vance started. Of course Gibbs remembered. Who could forget the accomplice that had been responsible for the shooting deaths of two federal agents and the National Security Agency’s best lawyer? They had never been able to connect him with any of the other cases and due to Areñas’s citizenship status, their time with the murderer had run out and the United States government was forced to send him back to Colombia, where he would face punishment under his own government’s laws. Gibbs nodded bluntly in response. 

“When we extradited the bastard back to Columbia, we sent two Central Intelligence agents trailing after him. Because with the corruptness prevalent in that country… It’s always good to make sure…” Vance trailed off as he looked away from them and turned to face the window that looked over the landscape outside. “Anyways, we picked up some chatter.’

“What kind of chatter?” Mcgee interrupted. He had abandoned his place from next to the door and now stood next to Gibbs with an accusatory glance. “I’ve been surveying Colombia’s feed for weeks, nothing seems out of the ordinary.”

“That’s because unreliable technology and inefficient recordkeeping practices have caused Columbia’s databases to become severely backlogged. They still put most of their records on paper until they’re able to transfer it to computer technology.” Vance paused and pinches the bridge of his nose with his hand as he contemplates what he’s about to say next.

“There’s been chatter among the Colombian military and the embassy that has been concerning. There have been some rumors concerning Fort Franco, a small military instillation in Quidbó about three hours from the capital, Bogotá. Reports are coming in from various parts of Columbian Armed Forces in the area about the rescue and holding of two federal agents. A male and a female, one with brown hair and blue eyes the other with blonde and blue. Nothing definitive, they haven’t even said where the individuals were from, but they do match the descriptions of agent’s Bishop and Dinozzo.” 

Gibbs snatched the file up again. He swallowed hard as he flipped through the pages of the folder. This time he scrutinized the pages more closely. Gibbs was able to pick out and define the Spanish words he had only glanced at before. Mujer… FARC… peligroso… The words practically jumped out at him. His hands grew cold and clammy and his jaws sets, as he understands more and more of the information. Mcgee’s has realized the possible implications and his face had gone pale as he processed the information. The computer specialist backs up and continues backing up until he stumbles into Keller and Clevenger, who have had the decency to look somber throughout the entire ordeal. Vance continued to speak as if he hadn’t seen the men’s demeanor change in the room. 

“I’ve got friends in high places and I was able to pull some strings. The intelligence officers have contacted the embassy and are trying to make contact Fort Franco, but it’s difficult with the language barrier. The Head of International Affairs, Kate Mulgrew, has granted both you and Mcgee a coordinated a four day visa to visit Columbia. Too affirm and verify.”

Gibbs closed the folder and slid the contents back to Vance. 

“Thanks Leon.” Gibbs muttered appreciatively. 

“Keep the file. You’re going to need it.” Vance said.

“Hey, what about us?” Keller asked petulantly. 

“Desk duty.” Gibbs and Vance replied at the same time.

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Present Day…

The dust kicked up from underneath the vehicle as the Humvee made its way up the winding, dirt road. A weathered, Latino man with a toothpick attached firmly in his mouth drove the duo in silence, further away from the bustling city, chattering people, and vibrant colors, and deeper into the dark, twisty greenery of the burgeoning forest. Mcgee and Gibbs sit in the back of the Humvee with tense reserve. The nerves have gotten to Mcgee who fidgets in his seat, but both men are determined not to get their hopes. Because each time they had gotten their hopes up they’d had been dashed to pieces. Both wore the standard Columbian military uniform as a precaution. It consisted of a pair of basic uniform pants, a long sleeve shirt, and a bulletproof vest. Mulgrew had insisted all this protective gear was necessary because drug deals and violence were an all too common occurrence. And both the United States and Columbia were reluctant to allow the two American federal agents to get harmed in any way, lest they ruin the frail relationship they had with America. 

The trail was uneven and the sharp twists and dips jarred the vehicles occupants with each bump and turn. The buzzing of mosquitos and other forest pests increased in number as they descended further. It increased from mere annoyance to a monotonous drone. It was the one thing that could drown out the other incessant noise. The one of the man sitting in front of them.

“-and I told him! You know I did. You know what? Goodbye. I said goodbye, Dave.” The man sitting adjacent from the driver finally hung up the phone that he’d been talking relentlessly on since he picked Gibbs and Mcgee up from the airport. The man’s name was Eric Benét and he was one of the United States many diplomats that was sent to forge contacts and relations with the Colombian nation. The man was a second-generation American and Georgetown alumni who spoke fluent Spanish, Portuguese, and English and had a penchant for finishing things he wanted done. Benét had an infamous track record and a multitude of experience that betrayed his five foot seven, slightly pudgy, balding form. Gibbs hadn’t seen the yellowing handkerchief leave Benét’s head not once through out the entire trip. It didn’t help that he wore a full, pinstripe suit underneath his bulletproof vest in one hundred degree weather. Benét twisted around his seat to face them.

“I apologize for the lengthy phone call guys. Anyways, welcome to Columbia! I just wish it wasn’t under such bitter circumstances.” 

Gibbs nodded grimly as the vehicle runs over yet another bump. The buzz of the cicada’s and whatever other animals that bustled around in the forest currently drowned the sounds of the engine out.

“We managed to make contact with General Manuel Juarez, the leading authority at Fort Franco. He vaguely verified the rumors that have been going around. I have to admit it’s a bit strange that he hasn’t reported it. Juarez is a good man. An honest man. And you don’t get a whole of those types in this world now a days…”

The vehicle made a sharp turn down a further obscured road, marred by vines and various pieces of road kill that had been pulled off to the side of the road. In a way, it was a beautiful. There was never so much greenery and liveliness in the streets of D.C. This was different, but Gibbs could not enjoy it… because of the circumstances. 

“We’re almost there.” Eric stated as he settled back into his seat and wipes with his sweating face with the handkerchief once more. No sooner than he muttered those words, the vehicle turned into a clearing. A cluster of three brick layered buildings protrudes in the center in stark contrast of the surrounding jungle. An impressive barbed wire fence encased the complex with countless guard posts along the perimeter. Soldiers milled around the complex with machine guns in their hands, but except for a couple of head turns, seem to show no interest in the new arrival.

The driver rode them up to the entrance but they were prevented from going any further due to the large chain-link fence blocking the path. The guard in front of the gate made no inclination that he wasactually getting up to let them in. After waiting for a few moments, the driver started yelling furiously in Spanish and the guard grunted as he finally gets up and starts walks lazily towards them.

The man looked languidly down at the occupants of the vehicle.

“Identificación?” the man asks unenthusiastically. Benét takes out his wallet and holds up a yellow diplomatic ambassador identification card. It was the same card that allowed political leaders to be granted diplomatic immunity while they were in other countries. Gibbs and Mcgee had received a temporary one for this purpose

“Justificación?” he asks. Eric holds out a paper verified with the seals of both the American embassy and local Columbian government detailing why they were here and what purpose they needed to fulfill. The guard scrutinized the paper, then Eric, then Gibbs and his military crew cut. His eyes grow wide as he makes the connection. 

“Ah. You men are here for the presos.” The guard gave them a toothy smile and backed onto guard post. He muttered something into his walkie-talkie and after a series of electronic beeps the gate in front of them began to open. Gibbs relaxes a little. The tension between the guard and the diplomat had been palpable, but was that a natural reaction or had something gone on between the two? Eric looked slightly more nervous that betrayed to previous bravado he’d put on earlier. 

“What’s wrong Eric?” Gibbs asked suspiciously.

“I said Juarez was a good man, but if he’s anything like the guards out there. We may have a problem….” Eric said wiping his brow. “He called the two unidentified agents presos. That is the Spanish for prisoners.”

The vehicle rolled to a stop at the entrance of the presumed main building. Several more soldiers with several more guns were waiting for them. These ones looked more motivated and rigid than the ones down at the gate. A graying man approaches the vehicle. The man wears a green, military-like uniform with an array of various badges covering it. Brown eyes stare at him with an indecipherable coldness, a spattering of grey hair covers his buzz cut hairstyle, and some ugly scars allude to a dangerous pastime, yet the man radiated friendliness. Gibbs could tell from the man’s gait as he walked towards them that the man is most definitely military. This must be the general that they had been talking about.

“Hola Amigos! I am General Manuel Angelo Juarez.” General Juarez spoke with apparent authority and a very obvious Spanish Accent. His voice is a deep, rough edged baritone and it was one that exuded power and influence. “I am pleased to meet your acquaintance.”

 

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Present Day...  
The room spun in circles in his mind and Dinozzo found it impossible think straight with his nasty concoction of blurry vision and the waves of nausea. The migraine that had made permanent residence in his head was killing him and every slight movement on his part was stopped immediately by a vicious stabbing pain slamming into his head. The side effects of whatever they were giving him were extremely painful. One minute he was burning up and felt like he was going to melt. The next minute he was shivering and felt like he was freeze to death. The cot he laid was barely a mattress and offered no sheets and no reprieve from his rapid fluctuations in temperature. His hazy vision wavered in and out speedily as the drug continued to seep deeper into his systems. He wasn’t sure how long the naseaus would last. He wasn’t sure how long it would hurt. Tony was only lucky he hadn’ thrown up yet, but maybe that was because they hadn’t given him anything to eat in a while. The only thing Tony was sure of was that he terrified. 

Tony was scared out of his mind. Bishop had pretty much lapsed into silence after she uttered her startling revelation and then refused to elaborate on anything more. Bishop wasn’t cuffed to the bed like him, but she hadn’t made any attempts to move or much movement at all for that matter, since she’d been deposited in his room. She essentially folded into herself, much like she had by the second week of captivity in the… the cell. A shivering wreck. And no amount of prodding on Tony’s part could rouse her or even get her to meet his eyes. And that scares Tony because he knows Alakaso is going to come back. Their torturer was visibly unraveling at the seams, becoming more and more unhinged with each visit. It had been four days. And when Alakaso found out that they lied, that Bishop lied, he was going to be livid and this time Tony knew exactly what the man would do. Alakaso would tear them apart. And he probably wouldn’t care about what either Bishop nr Tony would have to say when he did it.

The medic, Enrique, had essentially abandoned his post once Alakaso gotten ‘information’ out of Bishop. It seemed that without the proper monetary motivation, Enrique didn’t take his job to seriously. Now the medic only came in to give them the drugs to keep them compliant, make sure Tony’s handcuffs were still intact so he wouldn’t escape, and to verify that both of them were still alive. Other than that, he basically left them alone with absolutely no medical attention. Although Tony did not miss a complete strangers hands going all over him and Bishop, he couldn’t help but feel that their lack of attention was going to bring more harm than good. Occasionally, passing men in military uniforms would peer in either laugh or just stare at them, like they were some kind of circus act or some animal to be looked at in the zoo. Other than that, they were almost virtually left in solitude. And with Bishop not talking and no one else there… maybe just maybe the silence was worse.

The only good thing the silence helped Tony with was his ability to think. His mind drifted back to Alakaso and then to Bishop. The interactions between the two had been worrisome. Had Alakaso…? No. He had to focus on the present not the past. He had to stop him from hurting Bishop. He had to stop him from going any further than he already had. After all, how much blood could the human body hold? And how much of that had he lost? They couldn’t lose anymore. He needed a weapon. Tony forced back the peals of nausea as he looked around the room once more.

The door was still closed. There were items on the drawers across the room from him, but they were too far away. There was Bishop, who was either sleeping, drugged like him, or unconscious, in the cot across from him. She wasn’t of any relative use right now. Then there was the surgical tray. It was covered with the standardized blue anti-infection material and held an array of surgical tools. Including the bloody hypothermic needle, that Alakaso had gotten way to comfortable with using on him. It was far away, closer to Bishop than it was to him, but maybe within his reach. Tony leans as far out side of the cot as he can and stretches out for the tray, but his fingers barely skim the surface. Damn it. He collapses back onto the cot in exhaustion. Time for Plan B. He could only pray that it would work.

“Bishop. El!” Tony whispered gratingly, somehow his throat is dry despite all the liquid they’re pumping into him. Bishop stirs, but doesn’t look up at him.

“Look, Ellie I know you’re hurting and you’re trying to deal. B-but I need you to help me out here, because we both know Alakaso’s going to be back. When he finds out… When he finds out the truth, we h-have to be ready.”

For the first time in the last four days, Bishop met his eyes. Hers were still dancing. Damn it. Was that bad?

“Good. Good. Can you pass the tray over to me?” Tony asked desperately. He doesn’t know when the next soldier might pop his head into the room. He winced when he sees the bloody stains on the back of Bishop’s shirt as she turned on her side to move the tray towards him. Had the crowbar injuries not scabbed over yet? 

Bishop let out a hiss of pain as she pushed the cart and it rolls towards him with a clatter. Tony quickly grabbed the tray and hastily seizes the hypodermic needle and a scalpel. He pushes the tray away so its proximity wouldn’t be suspicious shoud someone return. 

“Hide this under your pillow Bishop.” Tony instructed weakly as he tossed her the hypothermic needle. “If you get the chance. If he get’s to close to you. Get him.”

Bishop only gave him a harsh nod and immediately diverted her eyes away from him. No sooner than they had hid the weapons under the pillows did the door slam open. Tony relaxed slightly when he realized it was only Enrique. The pudgy man whistles his the same familiar tune he tooted every other time as he shuffles towards them. Bishop and Dinozzo stay silent as Enrique made his way through his usual routine. First, the man examined Tony’s handcuffs and then examines each of their vital signs. Dinozzo watched warily as Enrique took the two familiar syringes out of the pocket of his dirty blue scrubs, each filled with about five millimeters of a strange blue liquid, and brings the items to surgical tray that Tony had been touching moments earlier. It was all done with the usual methodological and distinct steps. Dinozzo held his breath as the medic arranged the syringes on the surgical tray hoping he won’t notice anything askew. 

The man pauses as he scrutinized the table before him. For a second, Tony thinks that this is it. Enrique is going to notice and then he’s going to send in the guards to get them, but the medic only paused briefly and then continued on with his duties wordlessly. It was everything Dinozzo could do not to breathe a sigh of relief. Enrique injected the contents of the syringe into Bishop’s IV bag and then the other into Dinozzo’s own. His toes tingled as they started to grow numb, but Dinozzo knew he had at least an hour before the medicine starts to take its full effect. A few minutes passed, while the medic was busying himself with other menial tasks. Then the door slammed open again. This time Dinozzo recognized the anger and fervor he’d expected when it had first opened earlier. Only one person could hold so much fury. Alakaso.

Alakasos’s eyes were bloodshot and crazed. His demeanor exuded fury and pure rage. Fuck.The door slammed open with such force that the instruments on the table moved with the bang. All three occupants of the room flinched as the torturer stormed in. Enrique walked hesitantly over to the man with a questioning look on his face. Apparently Alakaso wasn’t supposed to be here that day, and Enrique didn’t know why he’d shown up so unexpectedly. Tony did though. All to well. Enrique’s questioning look was quickly wiped off as the medic was backhanded to the ground. Blood spurted from Enrique’s nose as the man looked up in shock.

“Putos mentirosos inútiles!” Alakaso roared as he kicked the medic in the gut. Enrique gasped for air and tried to scramble away, but Alakaso grabbed the man and did the job for him. He yanked the doctor by the scruff of his blue scrubs and threw him like a sack of potatoes into the hallway. The man kicked up dust as he skidded across the floor, but managed to get to his feet and took off sprinting out of Tony’s line of sight. The door slammed behind him. 

“Stupid girl. Estúpida!” Alakaso yelled. His voice rose with every accusation. Their torturer had found obviously out that whatever Bishop had told him wasn’t true. “You made me look like a fool!”

In one fluid movement, Alakaso knocked Bishop’s cot to the side and she landed on the floor with a thump. Her arm was bleeding from where the IV needle had been roughly pulled from her arm and her eyes are spinning dizzily on her face, but she doesn’t seem to concerned about either of those problems. Instead, Bishop trembled with wide eyes as she looked at the hypodermic needle that had clattered across the floor when the cot fell to its side. The needle that was under her pillow was now on the floor, directly in front of Alakaso’s feet. Tony’s heart sank as he desperately fought against the numbness that is taking over his limbs. He needs to be able to do something. 

“What the fuck is this?” Alakaso asked picking up the needle. Bishop shuffled into the corner of the room on her hands and knees, as the torturer examines the object, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. Alakaso snapped the needle like a toothpick between his fingers. The broken pieces clatter to the ground. Furious, Alakaso singlehandedly threw the rest of the surgical tray across the room and pieces hit the wall with a bang.

“I told you I don’t like being fucking lied too!” The man yelled. Alakaso wrenched Bishop back towards him. Then he drove his steel-toed combat boots into Bishop’s stomach. Once. Twice. Then another time. Bishop’s pained gasps fill the air.

“Remember what I did the last time you lied? I can do it again you bitch!” The malice is practically dripping off of his words. His steel-toed boots make contact with her body again.

“Stop it. Stop it.” Tony wheezes, his voice is barely a whisper. The scalpel is warm in his hand. He just has to get Alakaso close enough to him to use it. “Just stop it.”

Alakaso turns from the quivering blond haired agent and directs his attention on Dinozzo. Tony swallows nervously as the man stalks over to his cot away away from Bishop. Disappointingly, Alakaso stays just out of arm’s reach. Just far away enough to prevent him from doing anything. Damn it. 

“You. You son of a bitch! You knew she was lying didn’t you!” A calloused finger pointed accusingly at him.

“If you j-just wait….” Tony protested weakly. He doesn’t know how to respond to the accusation, but he needed to stall for time. He couldn’t let Alakaso turn his attention back on Bishop again. Maybe the medic went for help. Maybe… Alakaso doesn’t give him time to reply anyways. Instead, Alakaso groaned in frustration as he backed away. The lieutenant runs a hand over his baldhead and his eyes are scrunched together tightly, as if he’s thinking. Then the torturer smiled wickedly and facedhim once more. When he looked back at Tony, the crazed, angry look is gone from his eyes, replaced with one of fury and determination. 

“No Mr. Dinozzo. I think I’m tired of waiting.” Alakaso muttered. Tony’s blood ran cold as their torturer reached into his back pocket and pulled out a silver revolver.

“Eleanor, you have five minutes to reveal to me the codes and contents of Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3 or I will shoot Mr. Dinozzo in the head. I’ll blow his fucking brains out!” Alakaso instructs as he loads the gun with ammunition. Tony is paralyzed with fear. He doesn’t want to die, not today, not like this.

“No no no. I can’t. I c-can’t.” Bishop stammered as she protests vehemently. The former NSA analyst is lying on her side on the floor, just barely in Tony’s line of vision, but he can see the tears running down her face. 

“You’re willing to let your partner die, just to defend that jodido excuse for a country? How fucking patriotic.” Alakaso sneers. He drives the heel of his boot into the back of Bishop’s hand. Tony here’s the brittle bones crack underneath the immense pressure. Dinozzo understands her position. He even supports it. He doesn’t want to die today, but he can’t live and risk the lives of hundreds or even thousands of innocent civilians by letting her reveal the codes. They’d be terroists if the did. They’d be arrested for treason. She can’t reveal the code. She can’t.

“I can’t….” She whimpers. The cool metal of the silver barrel pressed against Tony’s temple and Tony’s petrified. She can’t reveal the codes and Tony understands, but that doesn’t make having a gun pressed up against his head any less fucking terrifying. The scalpel now felt weak in his hands. What the hell was a scalpel supposed to do against a loaded gun?

“Tell me.” Alakaso reiterated one last time.

“Stop it. P-please. Please don’t do this.” Bishop sputters. 

Alakaso yells a stream of Spanish obscenities, as clicks the safety off the gun. The metal weapon waves precariously around Tony’s face as he does so. Tony lies still praying that the weapon doesn’t accidentally go off. Stall for time. Stall for time.

“Don’t tell him anything, Bishop.” Tony’s voice was oddly calm as he said it. It exudes an odd amount of confidence for someone who virtually has none right now. “Don’t tell him a single word.”

“Shut up! I’m not talking to you!” Alakaso screamed and pistol-whips Tony across the face to keep him silent. The room spun in circles and his vision grows fuzzy. Alakaso’s voice fades in and out as the blow knocks him off his balance. Tony can vaguely hear Alakaso start to yell at Bishop again, but he can’t make out what the man is saying. Tears run down his face. They were going to die in here, but at least their nation wouldn’t die with them. 

 

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Present Day...

General Juarez led Mcgee, Benét, and Gibbs into the maze of a complex. The soldiers, Gibbs assumed that they were the general’s bodyguards, trailed purposely behind them. The military complex was and overstaffed, underfunded facility. The floors weren’t paved and several of the doors were covered in rust, yet there was seemed to be an overabundance of young men and each held a gun in their hands. They were everywhere. Tens of young men in military apparel, peered curiously at them as the foreigners traveled deeper into the complex. Several milled about as if they had no apparent purpose, no wonder the men took such interest in them, they seemed to have nothing better to do. 

“I’m very confused, Agent Gibbs. I visited these foreigners myself. I watched one of my men fill out the designated forms for your embassy and had one of my most respected men send them in.” General Juarez said as he directed them down yet another hallway. 

“Thank you, but we’ll be needing the names of those individuals. We just need to verify the process, pinpoint where things went wrong…” Benét said apologetically. 

“Of course. Of course. The man who filled out the forms was Army scribe Alberto Apolonio. The man who delivered them was… Alakaso Chavez. Both of them should be on base right now, if you should require an interview with them. I can make sure they meet with you before your stay is over.” 

“We will.” Gibbs replied steadily. Mcgee nodded as he wrote down the names in his notebook. “What condition were the two individuals in?“ 

“I haven’t been-“ the general starts, but was interrupted when a man in blue dirty blue scrubs sprinted around the corner, barreled through them, and continued on without providing an explanation. The General looked livid as the man scrambled away.

“Enrique!” General Juarez yelled at the blue scrubs that disappear around the corner. “I apologize. I don’t know what’s gotten in to him. What were you saying earlier?”

“I was asking what condition my agents were in.” Gibbs repeats. The general doesn’t seem to be paying as close attention to their questions anymore, instead the elder man holds a suspicious glint in his eyes. 

“I- I haven’t been updated recently on their conditions.” General Juarez states carefully, as if he’s omitting information. “That was the doctor who just ran past.”

A tense silence covers them as the general quickened his space. 

“We’re almost there.” He said. General Juarez leads them down a hallway; they seem to be getting darker and darker with each turn. The final one is a dead end. A muffled scream comes from the room of the hallway. It sounds like a female voice and it sounds very familiar. Gibbs heart was in his throat as he lengthened his stride, pushing ahead of the rest of the group. As they approached, the muffled sounds became more pronounced. There are several voices coming from the room, but a loud one, yelling rapidly in Spanish, overpowers them all. Gibbs pulled out his service gun and kicked the door open, Mcgee and General Juarez are right on his heels. 

The sight inside of the room is grisly. One of three cots in the room was turned on its side on the floor. Rusty surgery tools were scattered across the ground. Blood dots the sand that covers the floor. The smell is rancid, but Gibbs combat experience allows him to only spare all this a single glance. Only two things stand out to him. Bishop and Dinozzo. His agents were alive.

Bishop was lying on the floor. Her gaunt form is peppered with bruises and cuts, her shirt is dampening with fresh blood, her fingers are bent spectacularly out of place, and those are only the injuries he can see. She’s shaking and crying in the corner, mumbling something, but Gibbs can’t hear, not over the mystery man yelling obscenities.

The Spanish man in military uniform, blocks his other agent from his view, but Gibbs is positive that it’s him.

“Federal Agent! Put your hands in the air!” Gibbs yelled. The man freezes and turns slowly around, obviously not expecting visitors.

“Get the fuck out of here old ma-“ the man starts, but freezes when he sees the General standing next to Gibbs, gun trained on him as well.

“General…” the man’s face goes pale. 

“Lieutenant Alakaso, put your gun down.” The General said harshly and then presumably repeats the order in Spanish. Alakaso? Was this the man who was supposed to deliver the forms to the embassy?

“General. I’m sorry. I can explain.” The man’s accent is thick, like many of the other individuals, but doesn’t convey any apologetic tone. He only sounds like a kid who only feet guilty when he had gotten caught. Gibbs didn’t belive his words for one second and soon found he had reason not to. I one fluid movement, Alakaso pushed Tony up in front of him and pressed the revolver against the younger agent’s head. Effectively making the man a human shield. 

“No no no.” Bishop mutters. Now Gibbs can hear her clearly. She’s covering her ears with her hands as she tries to back into the corner. Gibbs curses to himself, he doesn’t have a clear shot. He looks over at Mcgee, who silently shakes his head; the computer analyst doesn’t have a shot either. Then two successive shots ring out. General Juarez.

The first bullet pierced Lieutenant Alakaso in the torso. The second goes through his left eye. The blood splatter sprayed the wall behind the man and Alakaso crumpled backward on to the floor next to Bishop. Blood rapidly leaves from the exit wounds in the dead man and seeps into and on the floor around him. 

Mcgee sprinted towards Bishop who’s still murmuring her incessant no’s, while Gibbs ran to Dinozzo. The younger brown haired agent was sweating profusely and looks smaller than he ever had before. Blood streams down from a gash on the side of his head, his wrists are rubbed raw, darkened blood seeps from his pants, but he is very much awake. 

“Hey Tony. How are you doing?” Gibbs asked softly as he looked for something to dismantle the handcuffs with. 

“H-hey Gibbs. W-what took you so long?” Tony stutters. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and his body went slack. Dinozzo is out for the count.

 

The Spanish is a bilingual bonus. I apologize for any wrong translations. Let me know what you thought!


	9. Chapter 9

Tom Tomorrow speaking. This chapter may be a little slower than the others plot wise, but it necessary as this story transitions to the comfort part of the hurt/comfort. So bear with me.

The room dissolved into chaos as soon as Alakaso’s dead body hit the floor. Suddenly, the room was too small to hold the amount of people that were weaving their way in and out. Juarez had called for more soldiers to help move the corpse for more medics to help with Bishop and Dinozzo’s obviously deteriorating conditions. Those men added to the diplomat, general, and four other agents caused everything to become hectic as everyone tried to everything. However throughout all the chaos and disarray, it seemed as if time slowed down for the marine himself. As Tony’s body went limp on the military cot, Gibbs only heard the loud thump of his own adrenaline infused heart that pumped the blood coursing vigorously through his veins. For a split second, he didn’t know what to do as he looked down at his agent’s broken body. The deaths of Kate, Diane, and several of his marine comrades flashed across his mind. Their lifeless, bloody corpses strewn across the ground like careless objects. Their glassy eyes gazing emptily at the sky above them. Gibbs had seen too many deaths. Too many soldiers cut down in the line of duty. Too many dead agents just trying to do their jobs. Too many good people who had died at the hands of despicable people. Gibbs could not bear to see another one go. 

Anthony Dinozzo and Eleanor Bishop had been missing for a grand total of thirty-seven days. Just over a month. And the shape his agents were in showed that Alakaso had not wasted anytime in trying to get something out of them. Tony was in very bad shape. Gibbs had not seen injuries as horrific as the ones that covered his senior supervisory agent for a long time. Not since the worst of the case files handed to him and his team. Not since the atrocities done to Ziva by Sameen. Not since his days in the military. A sickening mixture of congealing crimson blood caked the left side of his face. Fresh waves ran in steady rivulets from a nasty gash in his head, but a sickening feeling in his gut told Gibbs that the head wound was not the blood’s only source. The other contusions and half healed lesions attested to that. Bruises of various colors, blue green yellow, peppered Dinozzo’s unconscious body, but by far the worst visible one was the darkening blue one that swelled grotesquely on his face. His right eye was barely visible beneath it. 

The oversized shirt that someone had put on Tony at some point was a crusted brownish color, only reddening due to the blood seeping from his head wound. It enveloped the brown haired agent’s emaciated form, making him look more like a teenager than a man, as the unconscious agent’s chest rose weakly with each breath. Dinozzo’s shorts resembled the pea-green ones Gibbs had seen some of the soldiers wearing when they had first entered the military instillation. However, Tony’s shorts were a dark, wet maroon color and alluded to something much more sinister. Slick blood coming from somewhere in Tony’s body had caked the shorts, which now clung to his skin like a scuba suit to a diver and it was still coming out in fresh pulses. Odd black, shiny, dark contusions marked his lower extremities. Blood and pus oozed out from some of them as well. How much blood could one man hold? How much blood had Kate and Diane lost when the bullet pierced their skulls? How much blood had Ned spilled when the bombs went off? How much blood had Tony lost already?

What had the hell had they done to his agent? With a shaky hand, Gibbs holstered his gun. Then time snapped back forward to normal speed and suddenly the room was loud again. Filled with the frantic murmuring of Mcgee, stern commands of General Juarez, and the clambering of soldiers following their orders. In mere seconds, his military training kicked in and it was like an epiphany. Suddenly he wasn’t clueless. Suddenly he knew exactly what to do.

Gibbs shoved two fingers against to his brown-haired agent’s neck. Dinozzo’s skin was hot, sweaty, and felt slightly inflamed to the touch. Dirt, grime, and blood seemed permanently etched onto his skin, but the pulse was there. The steady thump that ensured that blood was still coursing through his veins, even when the same slick, crimson liquid was practically encompassing him. His pulse was sporadic, but strong and that’s all Gibbs needed for conformation. His agent was still alive. But for how long?

Gibbs eyes fell back on the rusty metal handcuffs that had been tightened to Dinozzo’s wrists to such an extent that the skin had peeled and was now incongruously inflamed. The cuffs prevented Gibbs from moving Tony any more than a few centimeters. And although the retired marine was hesitant to move Dinozzo any further, in fear of causing further unnecessary harm, there was not much he could do when Tony was restrained in such an awkward position. The keys were obviously absent. The special agent spared a cursory glance around the bustling room, but was to no avail. The keys were nowhere in sight.

“The keys! Where are the damn keys?” Gibbs demanded, grabbing one of the many Spanish soldiers scrambling to follow orders throughout the chaos. The young dark-skinned man looked at him with wide eyes as he tried to form words, but nothing came out. When it became obvious that he didn’t understand, Gibbs reiterated the words once more in Spanish, but the soldier was still clueless. The man only shook his head back and forth frantically until Gibbs released the man who was obviously getting him nowhere. He whirled around to find another guard to question, but a pair of copper keys on a silvery key ring materialized into his hands instead. 

“I have a universal set.” General Juarez stated unobtrusively. He offered no further information. The general’s front was now covered with a thin layer of blood splatter, probably from the recoil of the two gunshots, but both men barely acknowledged it. Both men were far to accustom to it by now. Juarez had holstered his gun as well, but his hand remained steady on the handle as he watched his soldiers execute his commands amidst the disarray. The Colombian general scrutinized each one with narrowed eyes, seemingly daring one of them to step out of place and reveal their allegiance to the deceased Alakaso. Gibbs appreciated the man’s ferocity and relentless, but was already too preoccupied with something much bigger of his own. 

Gibbs cursed to himself. How had this happened? How had two agents been taken in broad daylight and flown all the way to Colombia for their own individualized torture sessions? Logic told Gibbs that the piece of scum, Alakaso Chavez, had wanted something. And judging by the state of Tony in front of him and the shouting argument that had occurred before Alakaso’s death, the torturer probably had not gotten it. Yet with the plethora of information that had been accessible by both agents at NCIS, it would be impossible to pinpoint exactly what information he had wanted. The NSA hadn’t been too helpful either and had started dragging their feet when Malloy had died and Tony and Bishop were certainly in no shape to be asked about it now.

Gibbs wasted no time in releasing the cuffs the restrained his unconscious agent. As the metal restraints fell away with a clink, the barely healed scars around Dinozzo’s mutilated wrists instantly began to bleed again as the weakly formed scabs fell away. He clamped a hand over the brown-haired agents wrists until he could find something else to stem the bleeding. Anything else to help stem the bleeding. The cuffs and the scabs were not the only thing that fell from Dinozzo’s hands. Something sharp and shiny landed on the dirty cot as well. Upon closer inspection, the object in Tony’s previously tightly clutched hands was a scalpel. In all the filth and disorder of this disgusting medical room, it was the only shiny, impeccable object that Gibbs could see. It was also of the most dangerous surgical tools, that when used correctly, could double as a weapon.

Gibbs briefly remembered the yellowing bruises and misshapen cuts on Alakaso’s face shortly before he’d been shot. A ghost of a smile flashed over the marine’s face. Of course his agents were going to fight. They were strong and resilient. They weren’t going to break so easily. The agents in the Naval Criminal Investigative Service never did. Instead they fight to the end. And it was apparent that his agents had fought. Valiantly. It was just unfortunate that his agents’ efforts had not been enough. 

A youthful man in blue scrubs tried to get in front of him, pushing the marine’s hand away from the wound that he had been desperately trying to stem. Another medic, Gibbs presumed, was now blocking the younger man from his view. Another medic, he presumed, to add to the long list of people the retired marine didn’t trust. The soldier held a large grey bag with the universal first aid sign on the die, but that didn’t ease the tension in Gibbs at all. Because what the hell kind of medical attention were his agents receiving here? Certainly not up to any kind of standard. However, when Gibbs moved to push the man away General Juarez stopped him. 

“I apologize Agent Gibbs, but this man is only trying to do his job.” The general stated carefully, placing his own bloodied hand against Gibbs own. He looked warily at both the marine and the chaos around them both, but managed to keep his own authoritative demeanor and firm tone. Gibbs looked at the medic incredulously. The man in blue scrubs looked like he barely got out of college. 

“Just like your other medic was trying to do his job?” Gibbs replied scathingly, unwilling to listen. The other man did not reply, but the look on his face was the one of legitimate guilt. So Gibbs knew the man probably had no idea what had occurred underneath his authority, but that didn’t make the man any less angry. However, he knew that Tony needed medical attention, regardless of who gave it to him. So Gibbs backed up enough to allow the medic do what he had to do. The physician ignored him as he methodically set rolls of gauze, packets of butterfly bandages, and tubes of what looked like medical glue onto the cot that held the broken man. 

“He will do what he can for the short term. But I’m assuming you will want to bring them back to America? I… I think they would receive better medical attention there. I can arrange transport if that if you wish.” General Juarez eventually said somberly. Gibbs barely acknowledged the information and only nodded sharply as he watched the medic apply dressings to the wound on Tony’s head. His agent looked so small, would he even be well enough to travel?

“That isn’t necessary General Juarez.” Eric Benét, the United States diplomat, had walked back into the room with his cellphone held firmly in his hand. Despite his unwavering words and tailored suit, the generally confident ambassador had lost his calm, authoritative demeanor and sported a green, nauseous tint on his cheeks as he flitted anxiously around at the chaos in the room. 

“I’ve contacted SOS International, an agency that specializes in these sorts of situations. They understand the situation and have agreed to airlift you and your agents out of the country and back to D.C via medical helicopter. Unfortunately, they are only able to land in Bogotá. The government was very adamant about that. If we can get them to the capital, they can get us out of there within the hour.” Benét informed the duo. The diplomat made a visible effort not to look at the injured agent in front of them. 

“This military compound has means of vehicular transportation and we can get them to Bogotá in less than two hours if necessary.” The general jumped in, anxiously trying to redeem himself. “I can send Miguel with you, if necessary.” Juarez finished gesturing towards the medic who worked tirelessly on Tony. More and more of the blood and wounds were disappearing underneath poorly wrapped bandages. The retired marine could not help but feel as if the medic was doing more harm than good, but Gibbs bit his tongue to keep from saying anything. Something, after all, was better than nothing and his own medical training was not as proficient as he would have liked.

“Due to contract negotiations and government restrictions, the helicopter is only able to stay within the country for a couple of hours each day. So if we want to get your agents out of here we have to leave now.” Benét stated. The Special Agent in Charge nodded tiredly as he tried to process the information the men continued to bombard him with. 

“Yes. Okay. Yes. Just don’t move him out of my sight without my permission. I’m not losing another agent again.” Gibbs finally conceded. Tony was good in the hands and He still had another agent to check on. Probationary Agent Ellie Bishop. 

Gibbs whirled around to the opposite side of the room, but he did not have to go far to find the two remaining members of his team and the grisly sight broke his heart.

One of the soldiers had moved Alakaso’s dead body from the room and Gibbs could not have given a fuck of what they did with the body. The remnants, however, of his violent death have remained just where the body had expelled them. A nasty pool of congealing blood had spread on the floor, filling in the cracks and crevices of the floor, covering everything it touched with a crimson stain. Including his youngest agent, who lay shivering on the floor beneath him. The spilt blood stained the souls of her blistered feet and soaked the right side of her cotton military green pants. The crimson inched slowly upwards as the pool of blood continued to spread, but the blonde agent didn’t seem to be taking any particular notice.

Gibbs cringed inwardly as he scanned over the prior NSA analyst’s injuries. Nasty cuts littered her face and body, all in various stages of healing. Peculiar shaped, darkening bruises covered other untouched areas of skin. Some looked sickeningly like handprints, but he didn’t want to think of what could imply. Fresh bloodstains dotted her maroon colored shirt and intermixed with the blood on the floor. The fingers in her hand are bent at unnatural angles, each one splayed in completely different almost perpendicular directions, as she cradles it to her chest. He did not miss the track marks running up and down her arms either, dotting her forearms like tiny pinpricks. Like Tony, Bishop was covered head to toe with dirt, grime, and sweat, but unlike Tony, she was very much awake. Her eyes were trained on the floor, instead of on the men standing around her as she wrapped herself into a carefully fetal position. Bishop was wearing her trauma like a blanket around her. Gibbs almost wished she were unconscious so he could make what they were about to do easier. 

“I’m sorry, boss.” Mcgee whispered anxiously. His computer specialist was on his knees a few feet away from his trembling probationary agent. Another man in blue scrubs carrying a stretch and a similar medical bag, stood just behind him. “She… she won’t let me or the medic touch her.”

Gibbs gets down on his knees next to his two younger agents, being careful not to frighten the blonde NSA agent any further. His youngest agent was hysterical and inconsolable; nothing Mcgee had said had broken her out of her stupor.

“No no no. I-I’m not saying anything. You c-can’t make me s-say anything. You can’t-” Bishop’s voice was hoarse and slurred, he could barely hear her over the commotion in the room. Her throat sounded scratchy and raw and Gibbs heart broke over how defeated she sounded. She’d been muttering the same mantra over and over since they had walked into the room. 

“Bishop?” Gibbs asked softly with as much calmness as he could muster. He took a slow step forward, in desperate hope of gaining at least some flash of recognition in her eyes. “Bishop you need to look at us. It’s us. It’s Gibbs and Mcgee. ”

“-make me say anything. I’m not saying anything. I’m n-not t-telling you anything.” The former NSA analyst steadfastly refused to look up or even acknowledge him, but they were on a time crunch and both agents needed some real medical attention. They could not afford to waste time here. His agents needed help. 

“You don’t have to say anything Ellie, but you have to let us help you.” Gibbs said, but he got no response. If anything, Bishop tried to sink further into the ground as she muttered her incessant mantra over and over again. Gibbs gently laid his hand on Bishop’s shoulder and it was like something clicked on. Gibbs withdrew his hand quickly; his fingers were now stained red. A gasp of pain escaped through her cracked lips as she sprang upward. Once on her feet, however, she faltered, and the drain of color from Bishop’s face told Gibbs the swift movement and change in elevation had left her unbalanced and in pain. The movement was too much for her to handle and the NSA analyst fell back to the floor.

“D-don’t touch me!” Bishop stuttered painfully. She slowly inched away from them and closer to the wall as she reached for the overturned cot to stabilize herself. For the first time, Gibbs was able to clearly see Bishop’s appearance. Her hair was splayed around face messily. Tears streamed down her face in rivulets and there were dark circles under her tortured eyes. She obviously hadn’t slept in a long while. It seemed as if Bishop was looking at them without actually looking at them. In fact, her eyes were unfocused and shifty as she gazed in their general direction apprehensively. Was that normal?

“Don’t touch me.” Bishop slurred again, but her voice was weaker, more resigned this instance around. Gibbs noticed that she was cradling her head at an awkward angle and when she moved back again the NCIS agent can see the slightest hint of dirty bandages wrapped around something just below her hairline. It made sense. It would certainly explain the switching speech patterns, but it also made the situation even direr. The crimson stains continued to grow larger beneath her shirt.

“I’m n-not telling y-you anything.” The probationary hiccupped miserably. 

“Bishop…” Gibbs murmured sympathetically, but she’s obviously not listening. Her uninjured arm was now pressed against her ear as if that would drown out the chaos around them. 

“We can give her a sedative if you would like, Mr. Gibbs.” An unfamiliar voice suggested. “If you want to get to Bogotá before schedule…” It was the young medic that had been working on Tony; he held a small blue syringe in his hands. Much like the one that laid crushed to pieces in the pool of blood next to them. 

In the background, Gibbs saw General Juarez supervising three soldiers as they lifted Dinozzo’s broken body from the military cot onto a stretcher. Another soldier was wrapping Velcro restraints around the brown-haired agent as they made conscious efforts to stabilize him. Benét stood further away in the distance, anxiously checking his wristwatch and the various agents and soldiers that occupied the room as he fiddled with his phone. Their window of opportunity was rapidly running out. If Gibbs and Mcgee wanted to get Bishop and Tony out of this country within the next twenty-four hours, they would have to do so now. But Gibbs had seen the pinpricks making their way up the former NSA analyst’s skin. He didn’t want to subject her to that kind of pain again. 

So the retired marine made one last attempt to reason with her, and in hindsight, it was probably the worst thing he could have done.

“No. Give me a few more minutes.” Gibbs demanded, shooting the medic his infamous death glare. He turned back to Bishop who was trembling violently. She’d diverted her eyes back towards the ground.

“Ellie, think about Jake. He’s worried about you. We all are. He won’t be able to see you if you don’t let us help you.” Each word pierced Gibbs’s heart with guilt and Mcgee looked over at him with incredulous eyes, but the younger man didn’t dare question Gibbs authority. Bishop visibly flinched at the mention of her husband’s name, but her bloodshot eyes refocused from the floor onto them as she stared at them carefully, warily calculating the risks. A flash of clarity went over her eyes, but just as quickly it disappeared and she curled back in on herself. Shit. 

 

“Mr. Gibbs.” This time it was General Juarez standing behind him. “We’re running out of time. Your other agent is ready for medical transport, we need to get her ready as well.”

Gibbs swallowed hard and looked at Mcgee, the computer specialist nodded solemnly. They would have to sedate her. General Juarez shook his head approvingly and ordered the medic to carry out his duties in Spanish. Bishop screamed hysterically as the medics that had been standing behind the duo rushed forward. Gibbs and Mcgee turned away as the medics forced Bishop to the ground and quickly administered the sedative. It was hard to watch, but it needed to be done. 

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“I called the hospital. They understand the situation. The trauma team is on standby. Abby and the rest of the team have been notified as well. They’re probably already there.” Mcgee informed his boss, a ghost of smile on his sweaty, tired face. Gibbs nodded stoically and motioned for Tim to sit back down and strap himself back in. 

The wings of the helicopter beat loudly in the air forcing warm humid air into the cockpit and interior of the aircraft. There were only seven people inside the aircraft, but it felt as if there were seventy. General Manuel Juarez had said his goodbyes to the team back at Fort Franco after ensuring both the diplomat and the retired marine that a full investigation would be launched to weed out any further moles involved with Alakaso. Eric Benét had left with condolences in Bogotá after giving them his contact information and promising to do follow up into Juarez’s investigative work. Two pilots in the cockpit, who hadn’t said much since the helicopter took off, and a quiet medical physician were the only other individuals in the plane with the team when they made their trip back to America

Bishop and Tony looked like children as the plastic stretchers engulfed them. Each as restrained by their chest, arms, and legs by black, flexible Velcro straps. The stretchers hooked to some metal apparatus that guaranteed they would not shift throughout the flight. Both had IV drips and needles inserted because the sole medic had immediately wanted to start getting water and nutrients back into their emancipated bodies. None of them held onto the hopes that Dinozzo and Bishop would have been given enough food or water while being held prisoner. However, seeing more needles being poked into the both of their injured did not comfort them at all. Tony and Bishop had been unconscious since the helicopter took off and Gibbs sincerely hoped they stayed that way. He didn’t want a repeat of what had happened in that godforsaken room. At least Tony had recognized him, Bishop was another story. Gibbs deluded himself into thinking that if maybe his agents were unconscious, they wouldn’t feel as much pain. That maybe their bodies would heal faster if the weren’t struggling. He didn’t think for a second, that maybe he was wrong.

The army medic continued to check on the two of them, hastily rechecking and retying bandages and making sure the intravenous fluids were entering correctly. The frequency of which the medic continued to check on the injured agents worried the Mcgee and Gibbs, who had not left their sides since they’d been found. Now the medic sat in the only other retractable seat in the vehicle, hastily writing things down on a folder. The medical equipment beeped quietly in the background. 

“God… How did this happen to them?” Tim asked morosely. His head was in his hands and there were unshed tears in his eyes. Gibbs hadn’t seen Mcgee this distressed sense his girlfriend lost her ability to walk in the bombing and he had very good reason to be upset now. 

“The reason bad things happen to everyone, Tim. Because there are bad people.” Gibbs said defeatedly. It was a horrible answer to his question, but Gibbs couldn’t bear to think about all of the ways that the injuries could have been inflicted on them.

“Boss? Should… Should we be worried that they haven’t woken up yet?” Mcgee piped up nervously, after a few more minutes of silence passed. Bishop and Tony had been unconscious for over five hours and both showed no signs of waking up anytime soon. They didn’t look peaceful, not even in sleep. Instead they were in constant discomfort. Tony wore a pinched expression on his face while Bishop’s eyes danced behind her eyelids. Some blood had been cleaned away so the medic could access the more grievous wounds, but it still covered both of them to a sickening extent. It looked bad. Very bad. But he wasn’t about to tell Tim that. 

“Bishop’s sedated and Tony’s… He’s going to be okay.” Gibbs stated, but he wasn’t sure if he was just lying to the both of them. “They’re going to be okay.”

Then Tony started coughing.  
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The trauma team was waiting for them for them when they landed and it couldn’t have been soon enough. Things had seemed to go downhill after Dinozzo started wheezing. While Tony had never woken to a fully conscious state, the harsh coughs that rocked his body seemed to have a life of their own and within seconds there was frothy blood bubbling at his lips. Crimson spray had dotted the cot, the floor, and the medic working frantically in front of him. Gibbs and Mcgee sat in shock, as the man they had worked with for almost a decade seemed to deteriorate before their eyes. With each cough, the Dinozzo’s face had grown paler and paler and sweat started pouring then his lips started turning blue. He had been choking on his own spit. While the sole emergency medic had worked frantically to rectify the situation, Bishop lapsed into some kind of seizure and the stretcher shook with her convulsions. The medic couldn’t work on both at the same time and Mcgee and Gibbs own medical training only went so far.

Bishop and Dinozzo had made it to the emergency room on sheer luck alone. When the helicopter finally touched down on the hot black tar of the roof, Tony’s dangerous coughing still subsisted, but Bishop’s spasms had subsided. The sudden movements had reopened the wounds of both individuals. The beatings had torn them up significantly. As they dismounted the helicopter, it was Mcgee who had his hands frantically trying to keep the blood inside the young agent and it was Gibbs who followed the agitated orders of the flustered medic as he tried to keep both agents alive. The second the helicopter wings slowed to a stop, the physicians waiting on the roof surged forward.

“Oh God.” One of them muttered as the doctors took in the severity of the injuries they would be dealing with. The helicopter medic, whose name Gibbs hadn’t bother to learn, shoved a written file into one of the doctor’s hands and the rest of the swarm wasted no time in lifting the agents from the stretchers and onto gurneys. The empty bloodstained stretchers that were left behind sat on the roof like an ominous message.

The doctors did not inform them as they took off with his agents down a series of white, antiseptic hallways and Gibbs and Mcgee had to trot next to them to keep up with the hasty pace. The medical professionals shouted constant streams of information over each other as they went and Gibbs was only able to flashes of information as they sprinted down the halls.

“-need MRI-”

“Someone page Dr. Haddon! She-“

“-six liters of O positive blood stat! He’s loosing it fast”

“Make sure OR’s two and three are ready for-“

The group reached two large double doors. The men and women helping with the gurneys walked straight through, but when Gibbs tried to follow he is immediately denied access.

“I’m sorry sir, this is only for authorized and sterile personnel.” A young woman in light blue scrubs informed him. “ Please go to the waiting room. We’ll update you as soon as you can.”

Mcgee started to protest, but the nurse quickly shuts him down.

“We’re trying to keep your people alive. You’ve done your job, let us do ours.”

Then the rest of the doctors and nurses continued on as they rushed Bishop and Dinozzo away from them and down another hallway, shouting orders to each other as they went. Mcgee and Gibbs, both covered in their fellow agents’ blood, were left behind to wait.

They staggered towards the waiting room and weaved through the crowd of tightly packed injured people. It felt like the waiting room of Inova Fairfax Hospital was filled with more people than Fort Franco. A few looked at the approaching blood covered duo with alarm and some distanced themselves, but most were to preoccupied with their own injuries and kept to themselves and. Amidst the broken arms and bloody noses, the retired marine spotted the rest of team sitting in the few remaining chairs.

“Gibbs! Where are they? Are they okay?” Abby spotted them first and practically launched herself towards the tired marine. The tall Goth fired off questions, one after another, as hugged him tightly. When she realized he wasn’t answering any of her questions, Abby took a step back and really took a better look at the two agents. At the crimson that covered their shirts and the unshed tears in their eyes. 

“Is… Is that their blood Timmy?” Abby asked in a small voice. Mcgee opened his mouth, but then closed it again without saying a word. He looked like a fish out of water as he struggled to find the words to answer such a simple question, but the lack of response answered the question for them.

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” Abby steps away from the blood covered duo with wide tear-filled eyes and collapsed in the chair she’d been previously sitting in. Jimmy Palmer, the medical assistant, face turned pale as he runs a hand anxiously through his short brown curls. Ducky puts his comforting hands on Gibbs and Mcgee and guide them toward the remaining chairs were they both collapsed in exhaustion.

“They’re going to be alright Jethro. Your agents are tough. They’ll pull through.” Ducky assured with a British tilt.

“You didn’t see them Duck… There was so much blood…” 

The clock above the revolving double doors said it was only half past six and if the current date was correct, that meant they had been in Columbia for less than 72 hours. It had felt like a lifetime to the retired marine. The revolving doors do not open for another fifteen hours.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………. 

Although his team was exhausted, only the resident Goth and assistant medical assistant were able to sleep peacefully in the crowd of ever changing injured people. Mcgee and Ducky had tried to stay awake but eventually they dozed off into fitful sleep as well. While Gibbs had managed to catch a few minutes of sleep here and there, he mostly sat rigid in his chair positioned towards the door as he waited for the doctor to deliver him some kind of information. 

The retired marine watched with narrowed eyes as three men in stark black suits slid into the waiting room and approached the room’s nurse’s desk. Gibbs recognized one of them as NSA Official Jeremy Marlens, Bishop’s former boss up until the time she officially and permanently joined the main NCIS Major Case Response Team. What the hell was he doing here? The man and his associates had barely been involved in the investigation after granting Jake Malloy the ability to work at both agencies. Then the agency had been stubbornly reluctant to reveal any additional information after Malloy had passed away. As far as he knew, no further contact with the agencies had been made. Not even a phone call. So what were they doing here now?

“What the hell are you doing here Marlens?” Gibbs growled wearing his infamous cold stare after he made his way over to the trio. The blood on his front had dried and crusted, but gave him an intimidating appearance. Marlens barely glanced him. He was not swayed at all by Gibbs intimidation factor.

“Back up Gibbs. This is federal business. It’s above your pay grade.” Marlens said barely looking in his direction as he flashed his National Security Agency badge.

“I don’t give a fuck about pay grade. Dinozzo and Bishop are my agents Marlens. We rescued them. We got them out of that hellhole. That makes it my business.” Gibbs said. His voice grew louder with each word.

“And we would like to thank you for your efforts, but it’s time for you to step aside. The NSA gets to speak with them first. They were gone for over a month and they sure as hell weren’t trading party favors over there. We need to figure out how much information they released into the hands of terrorists. It’s a problem concerning national security not the boat police.” Marlens enunciated the word terrorist with exaggerated poise as the NSA badge disappeared back into his suit pockets. Mcgee and Ducky crossed the waiting room, having woken up from the commotion. 

“Are you kidding me? They just got into surgery. We haven’t even gotten an update yet and you’re going to interrogate them?” Gibbs asked incredulously. 

“Terrorists don’t have timelines Gibbs. You men of all people should know that.” Marlens tutted sarcastically, obviously alluding to the associate’s dinner, as he set his penetrating eyes on Mcgee. The computer analyst clenched his fist angrily, but Ducky kept him back.

“Families of Anthony Dinozzo and Eleanor Bishop?” a new voice interrupted the feud.

Everybody turned to see a man of average height with startling red hair and dark green eyes, wearing bloodstain surgical garb and a cap covering his head. His stoic stance was carefully put together and unreadable, but his green eyes betrayed the atrocities of whatever happened in the surgical room. 

Marlens and his lackeys quickly took out their badges and flashed them at the doctor. The physician had apparently already been informed about the precarious situation and opened his mouth to speak to the agents, but Gibbs interrupted him.

“No. We’re family.” Gibbs said. He didn’t dare take his eyes off of Marlens and his associates.

The doctor looked quickly at both of the men and apparently decided on his own to relay both parties the information.

“Hello sirs, I’m Doctor Stedman. I performed surgery on Anthony Dinozzo and assisted on Eleanor Bishop’s. I’m here to update you about their current conditions.”

 

Let me know what you thought.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to that one reviewer who pointed out that mistake, the changes have been made.

Dr. Stedman cleared his throat again before he continued. The auburn haired physician’s knuckles turned white as he clutched his metal clipboard with apprehension. It looked as if the doctor was trying to remain calm and retain his professional posture. Not comforting in the least. The longer the silence stretched on the louder it seemed to be. It seemed to encompass the waiting room around them and cover them like a silent bubble, in which all the other noise was blocked out. If was like a warning sign that alluded to the atrocities that were anxious to come

“As you know, Agent’s Dinozzo and Bishop both suffered from a range of injuries consistent with that of blunt force trauma and severe physical abuse. Owen Fields, the air medic, was able to assess and triage some of the basic areas and our trauma team was able to rectify or at least prolong some of the more detrimental effects. However both of them are still in critical condition and right now our best nurses and doctors are monitoring them around the clock so they receive the best care and reach a more stable condition. It appears that they received a little or next to no medical attention so they will most likely have to go back into the operating room again at some point in the near future. We are unable to do anymore at the moment because their bodies are too weak.” The physician began professionally, but each word sounded like a death toll to the retired marine. It felt like the calm before the storm, but Gibbs and his team were going to be right in the center when it started.

“That being said, it appears Anthony was invo-“ Doctor Stedman started to explain, but only got as far as the agent’s name before being swiftly corrected.

“Tony.” Gibbs promptly interrupted. “His name is Tony.”

Bishop’s former boss, Marlens, looked at him in annoyance, but the two NSA lackeys and the practicing physician seemed to understand the grimness of the situation and why Gibbs team were acting the way they were. They understood that there was a great sense of unity within the NCIS team, so n one called him out on it.

“My apologies, sir.” The auburn haired man smiled somberly. “It appears that Tony suffered various degrees of blunt force trauma to his face, legs, abdomen, and other extremities. Most of these injuries resulted in severe bruising, all in various stages of healing. He had a fractured eye socket, but it has largely healed and surprisingly it has healed in the correct way. What was most concerning to our team was the discoloration to the upper chest. MRI scans revealed that he had five cracked ribs and a broken one. We believe when he was transported to the hospital via helicopter, it caused some of the bones to shift and become aggravated during flight, which is what caused the coughing fit. There was no internal bleeding from what we could see, but we’re going monitor that for a while longer.”

Timothy paled visibly and swallowed the lump in his throat. He had gone through this kind of situation many times before and more than some of those outcomes that had been far less unfavorable and had still resulted in death. Some had not even made it to the hospital. Dorneget came to mind. But Tony and Bishop did make it to the hospital. They had made it to the hospital. And they were still alive. They were very lucky to be alive. But McGee wasn’t a stupid man; he knew that this was only the tip of the iceberg. He knew that everything was still a touch and go. If… no. When Tony and Bishop made it through, they were going to have a long road ahead of them. Just like Delilah did. 

“Agent Dinozzo also had various cuts and gashes that had become infected. Luckily he was in the early stages and a few doses should be able to rectify the situation. He has a radial distial fracture on his left wrist that has healed improperly. We’ll have to rebreak and reset it when he wakes up because his body is to weak to handle it right now. Tony also had a variety of scars consistent of with those of knife wounds. Most aren’t too serious and are more superficial than anything else. What has concerned us the most is the stab wound on his upper left hamstring. A knife of some kind punctured the skin and ripped through vital muscles groups that are pertinent for walking properly. Although the body tried to heal itself, severe infection offset and worsened the issue. We believe it must have occurred some time earlier than the rescue because Tony has developed some early symptoms of sepsis and has fever.”

Gibbs remembered seeing Tony’s blood soaked shorts, how swollen his left leg had appeared against the right, and the peculiar shiny bruise like contusions that marked his leg. Gibbs knew Dinozzo loved his job, but he also knew that his job required a lot of walking. And if the wound was as grievous as he said it was. He frowned inwardly. Stabbing people wasn’t usually a preferred method of torture even amongst terrorist groups because the victims of tended to lose too much blood or die from infection before they were able to give any relevant information. So it was often a last ditch effort, but the doctor had said that this stab wound days if not weeks ago. It sent red flags up and it did not sit well in the retired marine’s gut. If Alakaso truly wanted information would he have immediately jumped to one of the most potentially fatal wounds of torture? Unless he was using Tony to get to Bishop…

“Will he able to walk?” Gibbs asked.

“We were able to cool his body down with ice packs and cleaned the wound out with saline. Another trauma surgeon also stemmed much of the bleeding from other areas. Right now we’re pumping him with antibiotics to prevent further infection. We’ll know more when he wakes, but we’re cautiously optimistic about his prognosis. We have some of the best physiotherapists in the state that can work with him as soon as possible.” Dr. Stedman informed him. 

“As I said earlier he is very weak. Both of your agents are malnourished and underweight for their heights and ages, but we will be able to correct this by feeding them intravenous fluids and nutrients through an IV drip until they can graduate to solid and liquid foods. “ The doctor added.

The trio of NCIS agents nodded somberly as they took in this troubling information.

“And Bishop?” McGee asked falteringly. The doctor visibly deflated at the mention of the younger agent. 

“Agent Bishop’s injuries area bit more troublesome. She has several injuries to the back and upper chest that are indicative of blunt force trauma. The size and shape of the contusions allude to some metal bar of some sort. The force to which the bar was applied caused six fractures and two broken ribs. We were going to wrap those, but there have also been several skin avulsions or tears on the back. Skin avulsions usually occur… usually occur during motor vehicle collisions, but high velocity incidents can also cause this type of injury.” Doctor Stedman took in the confused faces of McGee, Gibbs, and the rest of the NCIS agents and paused to clarify. 

“Skin avulsions are a type of injury that occurs which an section of skin is torn off from the underlying tissue. They can range from skin flaps to complete amputation. Fortunately your agent was lucky and only has a moderate form of these avulsions and suturing usually can repair them. However, in your agent’s case sections of skin are missing, so we may have to look at skin grafts at some point, if they are unable to heal on its own. There were also various burn marks, all in various stages of healing. New skin was already forming over that, but we administered salve to decrease risk of infection.” Dr. Stedman flipped through the clipboard nervously as he continued on. “Most of the bones in her left hand were broken, but we were able to reset and stabilize them and it is expected that her hand will remain in a cast for at least six weeks as it heals.”

Gibbs maintained his stony exterior as he took all of this information in, but on the inside the news was tearing him apart. Bishop and Dinozzo had been gone for just over a month and now both agents had received a plethora of injuries that were worse than some prisoners of war. They had only been gone for thirty-seven days. The fear, pain, and confusion in Bishop’s eyes popped up in his head again.

“She didn’t know who we were and her eyes were shaky. Is that normal?” McGee interrupted anxiously.

“Confusion is not abnormal in these types of cases because sudden changes from what they have become accommodated to can cause complications. Agent Bishop did suffer from a head injury. Something hit her very, very hard and we believe that is what caused her seizure. Our neurosurgeon, Dr. Hutchins, determined that she had a severe concussion, which impacted parts of the parietal lobe and the cerebellum. When Bishop’s parietal lobe was damaged it caused a by-product disorder called nystagmus. That was the appeared shakiness in her eyes that you saw. It’s common with blunt force trauma to the head. With the proper medication both can be rectified rather quickly. Unfortunately, she won’t be able to receive any form of medication for the moment.”

“Why?’ Gibbs asked incredulously. Surely, some of degree of medication was necessary for all the pain that she had gone through.

“One of our staff noticed track marks suggesting a history of drug use. Until we determine what type of drugs were used and when they were administered, we cannot administer any more medication because they may cause adverse effects We’ll still be able to administer the IV drip but it means no morphine or antiseizure medication until at least a week from now. She was put into a medical coma in order to facilitate the needs.” Dr. Stedman said hastily. He voice oozed pity. Gibbs swallowed hard, Bishop wouldn’t do drugs willingly.

“Now that we have a better idea of their injuries we know what to look out for. Your agents have a long road ahead of them, but we are rather confident that they’ll make it through the night.” The physician finished.

“When will they be able to talk?” Marlens demanded almost immediately. The NSA official looked impatient and almost apathetic towards any of the information about his agent’s conditions. It seemed like a stark contrast to how protective he’d been of Bishop when she had worked obsessively on the Parsa case. It was like he seemed to care about his agents when a case worked in his favor and ignored their well being when it got in the way of getting what he wanted. Gibbs could remember Bishop coming in with dark circles on more than one occasion when she was still working jointly between both departments. Marlens apathetic attitude caused fury to build up within him. 

“Err… As I said earlier, Agent Bishop is in a medically induced coma, she won’t be expected to wake up for another couple of days. Agent Dinozzo will be under anesthesia for quite a while too. I think it is important to realize that even when they wake up, there is still a certain degree of undiagnosed psychological trauma that-“

“When they wake up will they be able to talk?” Marlens interrupted.

“Well. Technically yes, but…” Dr. Stedman started.

“Good. Then when they wake up, you call this number immediately. The media is not to be informed about their rescue.” Marlens said pulling out his card. “National Security could be compromised. If we learn you did not call us immediately when they wake up, I can have you arrested for obstruction of justice. That means twenty years in prison.”

“But the head injuries could-“ Dr. Stedman began again.

“Look son. These are thousands of lives we could be talking about and what you have on your hands are only two. So be a patriotic man and do it for your fucking country.” Marlens shut the doctor down. Then the older NSA official directed his attention towards the seething NCIS agents.

“And you men. Don’t you dare think of asking any questions without an NSA agent by your side. This is out of your jurisdiction and into ours. I will make sure your badges get taken away if you get to involved.” Marlens instructed.

“What makes you so sure that they’ve released information?” Ducky asked solicitously. 

“Because I’m not stupid Doctor Mallard. Of course they gave up information. It isn’t a coincidence that one of our important, confidential files was hacked into within the time frame of their kidnapping. It took us hours to get rid of the virus that was released into the system.” He hissed harshly. What kind of file would get the National Security Agency so worked up?

“What makes you so sure that Tony and Ellie had something to do with that?” McGee asked, stubbornly refusing to believe his coworkers had anything to do with it. 

“Not Tony. Bishop. Before she transferred to your goddamn boat team, she was part of the team of analysts that created the file.” Marlens said Bishop’s name with disgust. 

Gibbs glared at him with narrowed his eyes as he pondered this information. However it still didn’t make any sense. Why take Tony along with her, instead of the rest of the analyst team? The easy answer would be to use Dinozzo as leverage against her. However if that was the case, why was Bishop injured the most if she had the information he needed? What was on the file that Alakaso had been willing to go so far? McGee voiced his concerns.

“That’s…. If a group of people created a confidential government file that required an abnormally high clearance level then each individual would get a different section of the passcode to prevent such occurrences from happening. Bishop couldn’t have known all the codes. It’s impossible.” Timothy counterattacked.

“The four other agents who worked on the case are dead, Agent McGee. Jonathan Chen. Car wreck. Devon Preus. Heart attack. Shin Yee Teh. A random mugging. They were all accidents. Except Jonathan had never gotten a ticket in his life. Preus climbed mountains in his free time. And Shin Yee was a tickler about safety. No one knew to connect these deaths because only the highest clearance levels knew about it and the file wasn’t as relevant as it is now. Bishop’s the only one still alive.”

“What about the fourth?” Ducky questioned. “”You said there were four other agents. You only said three.”

“Jacob Malloy…. Gunshot wounds. Just because Bishop didn’t know the codes to the files does not mean she didn’t know the information.” Marlens argued.

“Did she know?” Gibbs asked. 

“Excuse me?”

“Did she know that they were dead?” Gibbs asked coldly.

“I… Not that I’m aware of.” Marlens grumbled admittedly.

“Then don’t make her out to be a terrorist, if she isn’t one.” The marine growled. This time the infamous Gibbs stare made some leeway.

“Stop insulting my intelligence and get the fuck out of my way. I have a job to do.” Marlens deflected. 

He left the waiting room immediately, not sparing a single glance to the rest of the team as they watched him leave. Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose as he forced him to calm down. He needed to be clearheaded to talk to the doctor.

“When can we see them?” he asked, redirecting his attention back towards the physician, who had been standing awkwardly during the entire confrontation. Another doctor who had appeared next to him, an Asian man with a thick head of grey hair, answered the question for him. 

“Your agents are in separate rooms due to the complex situation. You can see them both now, but only two at a time. Only one of you needs to sign these agreements. It just states you aren’t blood family, but are here from governmental purposes. The rest of you can follow me.”

Gibbs hastily signed the agreement as the rest of the team was led down the hall. Gibbs started to follow them, but Dr. Stedman stopped him.

“There was something else.” Dr. Stedman. Showing him the last paragraph on the file, Gibbs heart sank as he read the information and then reread it again. Suddenly it made horrifying sense and Gibbs wished it didn’t. That instead everything could be attributed to confusion, but it wasn’t and now he couldn’t erase it from his mind.

“Now I can do further testing, but your agent is in no shape to give consent. Would you mind?”

Gibbs nodded.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Day Five since rescue… 

Gibbs and the rest of the team had split their time between both agents. Right now he sat with Abby in Bishop’s hospital room. His youngest agent looked like a mummy wrapped in gauze. Her face was pale, but the retired marine could see the yellow bruises that were partially obscured by the bandages wrapped around her head. Her broken arm was incased in dark blue plaster and laid clumsily, but the track marks were still slightly visible on her inner elbow just above the crook of her arm. Scarred, distorted and bumpy blackish flesh marred several areas along her shoulders and neck and disappeared under her hospital gown. Two separate IV drips fed fluids and nutrients into her body, but it didn’t seem to be doing anything despite what the nurses were saying. A far cry from the probie that had become a staple in the office as she sat cross-legged on the floor, with her attention fixed on her computer and ear buds dangling from her ears, often holding some kind of junk food item. Now she looked like a ghost. She was breathing steadily, a sign that her ribs were healing, but even that bit of good news hadn’t been satisfying. In the last five days, Bishop had lapsed into two more seizures, and there was nothing they could do about it except let her ride it through. 

No anti seizure medication could be administered until the increased levels of Mescaline and Benzodiazepine left her system. Apparently the monsters had developed their own dangerous concoction of drugs that to keep her down. The doctor had told him Mescaline was a drug similar to LSD and the other was similar to a sedative. The antidote for one could not be administered without instigating other. All the doctors could hope to do was flush her system with fluids and hope for the best. It seemed absurd to Gibbs, but apparently necessary to the doctors so he kept his mouth shut and listened to the steady beeping of the hospital machine. At least she was still alive. Our agents are strong. Ducky had said. He only wished they didn’t have to be.

The rest of the group alternated between the hospital and work. Even Vance had made it a priority to drop by and check in on them, unable to do so earlier because of NCIS related business and the tying up of ‘loose ends’. However it became eminent that not all of them could stay off duty for so long. So they usually came in shifts. Jimmy had gone first because he had a wife and kid to care for. Then Ducky had left because the bodies were still coming in. Vance had always been on a time crunch. Even Joseph and Alex had made a couple of visits. Right now only three of them were here. McGee was with Tony. He and Abby were with Bishop and the steady beeping of the hospital machines was the only things keeping him going. 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Suddenly McGee burst into the room an ecstatic look on his face. 

“He’s awake!” the computer specialist practically shouted. “Tony’s awake!”

Abby practically leapt from the chair, but Gibbs told her to stay with Bishop. Someone needed to stay with her. Someone that he could trust. Gibbs followed McGee down the stark, sterile hallways of the hospital. The chatter of nurses in blue scrubs, beeping of pagers, and someone retching the background filled the place with incessant noise. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere as they rushed past him and save lives, but that was okay, he was in a hurry too, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready. Gibbs heard the screams before he saw them, but the retired marine can recognize the voice as Tony’s. The special agent in charge reflexively reached for his service weapons as he stopped in front of his door and steeled himself for what he’s about to see. 

When the agents step into the room, Dr. Stedman was standing above his injured agent. A lanky nurse stood at his side hastily wrapping hardening plaster around Dinozzo’s forearm obscuring his view of the brown-haired agent. Gibbs removed his hand from the gun when he realized there was no real danger and walked further into the hospital room. Tony was still hidden from view, but Gibbs could hear him loud and clear. 

“Stop! S-stop it! I don’t know. W-where is she? P-please! Tell me where she is!” Tony called out groggily in disconnected sentences. 

“He’s still on morphine. Apparently it’s going to make his head loopy for a while.” McGee said quietly to his boss. His voice rose when he responded to Tony. “Bishop’s safe Tony. She’s here in the hospital with us.” 

Dinozzo made no inclination that he had heard Tim as he continued to ramble endlessly. As the physician moved away from the hospital bed and towards them, Gibbs could see Tony more clearly. His temper spiked when he saw that his arms were restrained to the bed.

“Why the hell is he restrained to the bed?” Gibbs demanded. 

“Agent Dinozzo was trying to pull out his IV drip and sensors. He wouldn’t listen to any attempts to prevent this behavior, so it is necessary for his arms to be restrained to prevent him from causing any further harm.” Dr. Stedman informed him as he wrote some notes down on a paper. “We’ve also re broke his arm so that the radial distial fracture can heal properly. If he kept moving round it could aggravate the injury and result in it healing improperly. Trust me Agent Gibbs. This is in his best interests.” 

The physician didn’t say anything else as he checked to make sure the intravenous fluids were flowing properly and dismissed the nurse to go do other work.

“Look I’m breaking protocol by letting you in here first. I can give you twenty minutes alone with him, but then I’ll have to make the call to the NSA official and inform him about your agent’s condition. I hope you understand, but I can’t afford to go to jail.” Dr. Stedman said.

Gibbs nodded in appreciation as the two agents made their way towards the guest chairs directly across from the hospital bed.

“The call button is right there if you need anything.” Dr. Stedman informed the duo, the door closed softly behind him.

“I know.” Gibbs responded softly, but the man was already gone. Hospitals were no stranger to the Special Agent in Charge. The retired marine moved to sit next to Tony who looked blanketed down with the amount of morphine that was being pumped into his system. Dinozzo ceased his tirade as he looked up at him unrecognizably with cloudy, pain-filled eyes. A painful lump formed in Gibb’s throat as he couldn’t help but think about everything they’d gone through the last two months. A few moments passed but the brown hair agent remained stock still as he ran a cursory glance over the duo. Suddenly a flash of recognition flashed through his brown haired agent’s eyes. Dinozzo grunted in pain as he abruptly grabbed Gibbs by the arm and tried to sit in an upright position. Gibbs moved to stop him, but Tony wasn’t having any of it. 

“G- Gibbs… Gibbs! They have Bishop! They won’t tell me where she is! You have to-“ Tony voice was muddled with the effect of the drugs but despite the far away look in his bloodshot eyes, his brown orbs focused keenly, almost desperately on Gibbs as he begged him for help, but the retired marine interrupted into his incessant rambling.

“Bishop is here in the hospital Tony. She’s right down the hall. She’s safe. She’s fine. She’s going to be fine.” Gibbs tried to placate. Tony’s eyes cleared some more as the morphine began to wean off his system. His eyes narrowed a little and his mouth contorted into a grimace as he tilted his head to focus on the marine.

“That’s what h-he said when they were dragging her out of the fucking cell.” Tony said monotonously as he shifted his attention back toward the door that Dr. Stedman had exited from. It was as if he was silently willing the man to come back in so he could demand what he had done with his coworker. It became painfully evident that there was a degree of distrust in the air. Both McGee and Gibbs were left aghast struggling to find some way to respond to his statement. 

“Alakaso’s dead, Tony. He’s dead. We shot him.” Gibbs informed his brown-hair, red-eyed agent. Tony’s frantic gazing around the room paused on the marine once more, his bloodshot eyes struggling to focus on him.

“You shot him?” he asked creakily.

“We shot him.” Gibbs confirmed. 

“You gave him to quick a death.” Tony said bitterly. His voice is quiet, but Gibbs can hear the anger hidden in his voice. At least, Dinozzo had stopped looking anxiously around the room. Instead he focused his attention on the IV drip that’s putting fluids into his vein that he’d apparently been trying to rip out of himself moments before.

“It’s to get more nutrients into you, so you-“ McGee started to explain, but Tony interrupted him. 

“If you guys are here then who’s with Bishop? Jake’s only a lawyer so he won’t be able to protect her if they come back for her. He-“ Tony started to ramble weakly again as he started to work himself up again. The beeping on the machines behind him began to grow faster. 

“You need to calm down Tony. Bishop’s with Abby. You need to stay calm so you can both get better.” Gibbs stopped him and Tony shut up for a minute as if he were concentrating on something. 

“If Abby’s the only one with Bishop then where’s Jake?” he questioned timidly, but the stricken look on McGee’s pale face and the silence from Gibbs told Dinozzo the answer. “Oh god. He’s dead isn’t he?”

“He’s dead.” Gibbs affirmed. Tony turned his head away from them as if that could hide the despair in his eyes and the watery tears that threatened to leak out with them. The brown haired agent lapsed into silence as he contemplated this information. Rather than all out grief, he wore a look more like begrudged acknowledgement. Had he known?

“He told us they were going to kill him if we didn’t say anything. And now he’s dead.” Tony rasped darkly. The beeping spiked once more on the hospital machines behind him as his heart rate increased again. “He’s dead. I killed him.”

“Tony you didn’t kill him. Alakaso and his lackeys did.”

“D- don’t say his name. Don’t ever say his name!” Tony rasped loudly. His voice rose as the unshed tears fell from his eyes. 

“Okay. Okay. Tony calm down.” 

An uncomfortable silence settled across the room. Minutes pass by but no one said a word. Gibbs watched the silent tears fall from his eyes and listened to the beeping of the machines begin to slow down but Tony steadily refused to meet his or McGee’s eyes. The other agents don’t miss it when the brown haired agent winced in pain as he tried to shift his position, but neither says anything. They only watch in concern. Dinozzo had redirected his attention to picking at a loose piece of thread and their priority right now was keeping him calm.

“How long were we gone?” Tony eventually asked quietly as he continued to pick at the thread.

“Thirty…. Thirty seven days.” Gibbs replied solemnly. A beat of silence passed.

“It felt like so much longer.” 

A soft knock on the door interrupted them. It was Dr. Stedman signaling that their time was almost up. That it was time to throw Tony to the sharks.

“You have to listen to me closely Dinozzo. Agent Marlens is coming to talk to you and ask a few questions about the ordeal.” Gibbs told him seriously.

“Who’s Agent Marlens?” Tony questioned stonily. His voice didn’t have its usual pep and his eyes did not have the usual sparkle. Instead they were like marbles that held no life in them. It struck a sense of uncomfortable familiarity in the retired marine’s head. It was the look of someone who had utterly given up. Dinozzo didn’t even sound as if he cared if he got an answer or not. 

“He’s works for the NSA. He used to be… He used to be Bishop’s boss. He needs to know if you released any information into their hands.”

“We didn’t say anything.” Tony said defensively as he looked at Gibbs with an accusatory glare. 

“ I’m sure you didn’t. Just tell him that.”

“I have nothing to say… I didn’t know anything….” Tony voice was quieter, more defeated the second time around. He sounded like a kid. His eyelids drooped as he began tugging at the restraints again. 

‘Then tell him what you told me… and it will be fine.”

The stricken look on Dinozzo’s face told him he didn’t believe a word he said, but Gibbs didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth either. Both of the uninjured agents said their goodbyes, but Tony had clammed up and refused to meet their eyes. When the door closed silently behind them, it felt like they were abandoning a lost, confused child.

Marlens arrives only minutes later. His face red with exertion, but the familiar black trench coat was impeccably put together. He was holding a legal pad in one hand and a black leather briefcase in the other. It looked like he had just walked in from the office. Or rather ran. Gibbs watched from across the hall as the NSA official exchanged words with the physician and disappeared into the room. McGee went back towards Bishop’s hospital room, but Gibbs stayed exactly where he was. Even if he couldn’t be in the same room as Tony, he would damn well guard it.

This time gave Gibbs a moment to mull over his thoughts, but it only gave him an uncomfortable amount of time to dwell on the mistakes he’d made in the past and he couldn’t get Tony’s tortured face out of his head.

Marlens didn’t leave the room for another hour and that was only after a nurse had forced him out on the premise that visiting hours were over and they had to give Dinozzo some medicine. Marlens did not look to please with the answer, but didn’t see to argue much. The legal pad he had earlier had disappeared into his black briefcase and the trench coat man soon disappeared out the door with both. There was an oddly smug look on his face. 

When Gibbs entered the room again, Tony did not even look towards the door. He was subdued and quiet, but his gut told him that Tony was watching and waiting. A tactic he’d probably perfected in the Columbian hellhole. It was the complete opposite of what the special agent in charge had come to expect, but Gibbs could understand why it was true. As Gibbs settled back into the chair, he saw that the nurses had upped his morphine dosage. No wonder he was acting more loopy than usual. Tony looked over at him tiredly.

“You know… You know I should thank him Gibbs.” Tony started morosely. He sounded like he was drunk, even though Gibbs knew that was impossible. “Through all of that fuckery. Through all that shit he put us through. That huge pile of shit! H-he did teach me something Gibbs. You want to know what that is Gibbs?” 

Gibbs didn’t answer. He just let Tony continue with his drug-induced rant and get whatever he needed to get off of his chest. 

“Life isn’t like it is in the movies Gibbs. Not even close. And maybe Gibbs… Maybe if the movies don’t exist… Then the happy endings don’t either.   
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Day Nine since rescue.

Unlike Tony when Bishop woke up Gibbs and Abby were both at her side. Dr. Stedman had decided that after a week of being unconscious it would be okay to get her off of the anesthesia and transition to more stable pain medication. At some point the doctors had fixed her with some dark shade-like material that resembled sunglasses. Apparently to help with the nystagmus and lessen the effect of whatever damage could have affected her brain. The Asian doctor, Dr. Xu had gone over the two primary areas of impact, the cerebellum and the optical lobe with him before and what to expect. Of course nothing would be definite until she was up and moving, but that would be a long painful process.

“This is the a shot of Micodye. It’s a moderate form of adrenaline. It should wake her up relatively quickly.” Dr. Xu told them absent-mindedly as she filled a syringe with a pale yellowish liquid.

Gibbs and Abby watched with apprehension as the doctor probed the crook of Bishop’s non needle marked elbow for a place to insert the needle. 

“She’s intubated. So when I want you to tilt to the side while I disengage the device.” The physician instructed as she administered the shot. The anesthesia left Bishop’s system almost abnormally quickly after she was injected. Within minutes the probationary agent had let out a horrifyingly haggard scream and had turned sharply to her side and begun to cough spastically. The blonde haired agent scratched hastily at her throat with her uninjured hand while the injured one clunked violently against the metal side of the hospital bed. Abby recoiled violently away from the blonde, but Dr. Xu immediately laid her hand on the agent’s back and in one swift thrust took out the intubation tube.

Bishop lay there for a second like a fish out of water, as she took big, shuddering breaths and scrunched her eyes tightly together as she tried to acclimate to the pain. Almost immediately she starts reaching for the IV drip, but the doctor stops her. Gibbs doesn’t know if the movement as conscious or not. Bishop froze under the doctor’s touch and stopped struggling almost immediately

“Mrs. Bishop? I need you to open your eyes for me.” Dr. Xu asked sympathetically.

“ Don’t make m-me do it. I- It hurts… “ Bishop bit out in a gravely, pain-filled voice. Her teeth are chattering, but he doesn’t know what for, it’s just above room temperature. She doesn’t open her eyes.

“Mrs.. Bishop. My name is Dr. Xu. You’re at Inova Fairfax Hospital. Your boss and your coworkers are here with you. You’re safe, but I need you to open your eyes.” Dr. Xu instructed once more.

Gibbs could see the struggle it took for Ellie to open her eyes, but she somehow convinced herself to comply. He was hesitantly relieved when her eyes weren’t glassy with past, but glassy with pain instead. A flash of recognition flashed through them as she laid her eyes on her two superiors.

“Gibbs?” she called out gravely. A violent tremor rocked her body. Abby jumps in and starts asking questions, but the physician shushed them. Then Dr. Xu who expertly removed the glasses and flashed a light in his youngest agent’s eyes and obscured her completely from vision. Then she orders both the agents to step outside because she apparently needed Bishop’s complete undivided attention and concentration to carry out a few more tests. Bishop didn’t say anything further as Dr. Xu pushed them out of the room. Her eyes were scrunched tight again as the waves of pain took over. 

The physician lets them in twenty minutes later, but she stays in the room as she writes notes down on Bishop’s medical record. An IV has been inserted and is currently dripping what Gibbs assumes to be morphine because Bishop looks relatively calmer than before. 

“How are you feeling Bishop?” Gibbs asked as he sat down across from her. Abby hovered hesitantly in the background still spooked from the sudden reaction. Neither missed the way the former analyst shrunk away from them.

At first Gibbs doesn’t expect a reaction. He couldn’t even see her eyes behind the dark obscured shades. And true to his thoughts, Bishop initially doesn’t give him much of a response anyway, only a pained cough. The former analyst had managed to slightly curl herself into a somewhat fetal position. As she lay on her side, she’d drawn her knees up as far as they could go and wrapped both of her arms cumbersomely around her torso. Around the same area that he’d seen bleeding profusely only days earlier. The retired marine watched the blonde’s brow furrow as she concentrated on how to answer the question. Apparently the morphine had just started kicking in and had made it difficult to focus, but eventually she sucks in a shaky breath and meets his eyes. Or at least she appeared to; the heavy set glasses obscure his vision of them.

“I’m fine,” she rasped haggardly. Gibbs heart sinks. He can take one look at her and see that definitely wasn’t the case, but he doesn’t want a repeat of what happened with Tony so he lets his slide,

“Where’s… Where’s Tony? Is he okay?” Bishop bit out painfully. Gibbs 

“He’s resting just down the hall. He’s going to be okay.” Gibbs stated.

“He’s going to be happy to see you’re awake.” Abby piped in. It was true. He’d been asking about Bishop ever since he opened his eyes. Unfortunately medical reasons prevented either of them from seeing the other. Not until Tony was strong enough… Fortunately, unlike Tony, Bishop seemed to accept that answer right away and not question it. Bishop hissed in pain she shifted her position so that her back was to the wall and she was facing the door. Gibbs vaguely remembered Tony doing the same the first time he walked in. The room lapsed into a slightly uncomfortable silence as each agent waited for the other to fill in the silence.

“How d-did you… H-how did you” Bishop stuttered then trailed off before finishing the question. Gibbs, Abby, and Dr. Xu looked concerned at this apparent predicament. 

“Ellie? Are you okay?” Dr. Xu asked as she put the clipboard back onto the table. Bishop doesn’t reply as she looked around the room her brow scrunched in confusion.

“W-where’s Jake?”

Abby let out an involuntary squeak and Dr. Xu, having been informed of the situation before hand, looked away. Gibbs felt his heart constrict in his chest as he tried to breach the topic. He looked at the Doctor. Was it really healthy to tell such and injured argent that the love her life was dead? Dr. Xu nodded in return. 

“Ellie. There’s something we need to tell you about Jake.”  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I’m having an abnormal busy summer and my time zones are constantly changing so sorry for the sporadic updates. However, I made a promise to finish this story so I am going to finish this story.

Please review and constructive criticism, hints, or compliments are greatly appreciated. One lucky reviewer may get an exclusive preview of the next chapter before I post it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Tom Tomorrow speaking… A pet peeve of mine for fan fictions, TV shows, and movies, is when the characters jump back from almost immediately from whatever horror they faced as if it was a minor setback. This will not be the case in my story. The aftermath of torture and PTSD are very serious subjects and I’m going to do my best to portray it realistically. So I apologize if they might seem a little OOC.

Day Ten Since Rescue…

Location: Ivona Fairfax Hospital

No. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t. It wasn’t possible.  
"No, no... No! S-Stop lying Gibbs!... No. He would never... He’s not dead!" the former analyst protested weakly, but vehemently.  
Tear streaks glistened across Bishop’s cheeks, her eyes watery and bloodshot, a look of pure devastation crossed her face. Shudders wracked her thin frame, and her voice caught with each exhalation as he struggled to regain control of herself and breathe through her tears. Her ribs screamed in agony and her battered body begged for her to stop tensing, but she couldn’t concentrate on soothing the waves of agony.  
Gibbs and Abby’s eyes were filled with pity, but Ellie wasn’t having any of it. Flashes of her first time meeting Jake, their marriage, and their arguments skipped through her mind, threatening to overwhelm her. She remembered him criticizing the dangerous implications of her job, begging her to come back to the NSA. He wasn’t dead he couldn’t be. His quirky smile and blonde hair flashed through her head. His cheesy jokes and even cheesier laughter. His wonder as he realized just how good she was at her job. The promises they made to call each other and make sure the other was safe.Bishop shook her head vigorously. It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be dead. Because death meant permanent and it meant she was never going to see him again. Darkness began to seep around the edges of her eyes and her vision began to blur, as she grew more and more hysterical. 

I would hate to have something happen to your family. To Jacob... Bishop remembered Alakaso saying as he pried the wedding ring from her ring finger. If you don’t tell me the codes, his blood would be on your hands. You don’t want to be a murderer do you?

His sly smirk and sing song voice rang loudly in her head. His calloused laughter made Bishop want to scream. Stop it. Stop laughing. She wanted to scream.

His blood would be on your hands…  
Gibbs tried again, "Bishop. Bishop. You need to calm down. I’m sorry but-“  
“No!” Bishop yelled haggardly, surprising the occupants of the room with the strength and determination behind her voice. She was a murderer. A revolting, nauseating feeling overcame her, as her vision spun. She wanted to throw up, but there was nothing in her stomach that she could expel. All of a sudden ,she could see the blood on her hands. The crimson soaking her feet. And she couldn’t make it go away. No matter how much she tried. She was a murderer. She killed him. She killed Jake.  
“I killed him.” Bishop moaned forlornly. “I killed him.”  
Gibbs looked perplexed as he tried to placate her.  
“It's not your fault. You didn't kill anyone. You didn't..."  
But Bishop had long since stopped listening as the darkness completely overwhelmed her vision. 

Why was it so cold?

The hospital room and everyone in it completely disappeared as she closed in on herself. Gibbs and Abby’s frantic murmuring. The beeping of the machines. Even her own screaming was muted. Everything around was now pitch black and deathly silent. She could only hear the blood coursing through her veins.

The darkness and the cold that came with it was overwhelming. The blackness wrapped around her like a heavy blanket, constraining her movements, restricting her to the fetal position she was forced to remain in, and making it almost impossible for her to breathe. She tried dragging in some air into her lungs, but it was impossible. It was suffocating and felt like someone was smothering her, but giving just enough air to make sure she remained alive. Just enough air to make sure she kept on living. It seemed like everyone was doing a lot of that lately. Doing just enough to make sure she felt pain, but never enough to make sure she died from it.

As if on cue, agony rippled through her chest, as the grief ate away at her insides. Her body felt like it was burning in endless flames. She tried to bear the pain, waiting for it to subside like it usually did. But it didn’t. This time it couldn’t. Jake was gone and it was all her fault. It wasn’t just going to go away. Bishop quaked in disgust as she felt hands grabbing at her, trying to force her down. She desperately tried to slap away the unwanted advances, but the invisible hands only held on tighter. Then suddenly black was gone and she was back in the cell. Back in Alakaso’s grasp. The nauseating smell of burnt flesh and coppery scent of blood filled her lungs. She could feel the fire bubbling her skin, the needles stabbing into her arms, and the hands leaving unwanted marks across her skin. Somewhere above her someone was telling her to calm down, but she couldn’t. Not with the pain. Not with the hands. Not when she can’t even see. Everything was hitting her all at once. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. Why couldn’t she move?

Then there was a tiny prick on her right arm and suddenly she could breathe. Just as quickly as it started, everything seemed to subside. For a blissed moment, she doesn’t feel anything. The blood no longer rushed between her ears, the fiery feeling had disappeared, and the nauseating smell dissipated. But the hands are still there and even though the floating sensation put her at ease neither her body nor her mind are having any part of it. It takes everything in her power to shrink away from the touch and eventually the hands move away. Bishop struggled to take slow breaths as she tried to gain back her vision. The darkness was almost impossible to drag her out of and even when the gloom disappears it leaves a fuzzy haze in the surrounding hospital room.

“It’s common for victims that have been under such duress to manifest their emotions in such a way. In fact, it’s even quite a common reaction in normal individuals who experience grief.” A dominant female voice placated mutedly as her voice came into focus. The voices arguing above her sounded warped and distorted. Tears ran steadily down her cheeks as Bishop squinted her eyes to adjust to the sudden influx of color. Nothing focused. Everything was blurry and her mind felt loopy. Then the blissed moment is over as her husband shoots back into her mind. Jake… 

“Then why did you say it was okay to tell her?” A deeper, more masculine voice argued back. It sounded vaguely like Gibbs, but she couldn’t tell. It was getting more and more difficult to string her thoughts together. His voice held a dreamy, muted quality to it, like it was being spoken from far away. Suddenly Ellie felt tired, while she was coherent enough to realize she was still in the hospital room, the peaceful abyss that had been forcibly instilled upon her kept trying to goad her back to unconsciousness. 

“It was okay to tell her. It’s important for victims-” the doctor combatted again not backing down. Her voice dragged like molasses, but Bishop zoned it out. They are talking about her she realized. Arguing about her more like it. But she realized she couldn’t focus and doesn’t really care. There’s an empty feeling, something she can’t quite place, but it nagged at the back of her mind and made her heart ache. The giddy feeling from whatever they injected her with could not distract her from her husband. Her dead husband. She forced down tears as her eyes drifted lazily around the room as she tried to get a better idea of the surroundings. She couldn’t move. Why couldn’t she move? One of them had to be awake at all times and since Tony wasn’t there… 

Abby stood nervously next to Gibbs, while the former marine and Dr. Xu argued vehemently over him and behind them… Alakaso. Her blood ran cold and swallowed against the burn of bile climbing up her throat. The temperature of the room seemed to plummet as her torturer’s eerie gaze focused on her. Her torturer lounged casually at the entrance to the hospital room, the scars stood out prominently his face as he grinned wickedly at her. You should have listened, he mouthed. Bishop felt her heart rate speed up again as she began to panic. Slowly and silently Alakaso lifted a finger to his lips. The universal sign of silence. That was impossible. How was he here? Why was everyone else ignoring him?

“Her teeth are chattering. She’s shivering. Are you telling me that’s not wrong?” 

Gibbs voice rang out over her, but she ignored him. Instead, the former analyst tried futility to put as much space between her and Alakaso as possible. The retired marine apparently took this the wrong way and backed away from her and closer to Alakaso. She wanted to scream and warn him about the murderer that was standing right behind him, but she couldn’t find her voice. She scrunched her eyes tightly not wanting to witness the death of another important person in her life. Abby nor the doctor seemed to witness her struggles and as the seconds passed no one else seemed to struggle either. Bishop glanced back at the doorway. Alakaso was gone.  
“We shouldn’t have told her husband was dead. It was too fast.” Abby’s voice interrupted. She wasn’t ready was the unspoken thought in the air.

Bishop curled herself inward as close as her injuries would allow. The drug that sent her into a carefree, peaceful abyss wasn’t so comforting anymore. Jake was dead and it was all her fault.  
__________________________________________________________________________________  
Day Eleven Since Rescue…

Location: Ivona Fairfax Hospital

The morphine made Tony’s brain fuzzy and uncooperative, which by default made the rest of his battered body feel numb and disobliging. He felt constantly stuck with this floating sensation. It felt like he was trapped in the peaceful abyss of unconsciousness that he had longed achingly for when he had been locked up in the cell. The abyss that took away all the pain, all the worries, and all the fear. The abyss that allowed him to forget, for just one desperate moment, all the atrocities that he had faced under Alakaso’s command. The abyss that separated him from reality, like a brain with no body. The abyss, that he had now realized since he entered days ago, was nowhere near as comfortable and welcoming as he had expected it to be. 

With the heavy dosage of drugs, he could not think straight. In fact, he could barely string his thoughts together. When the doctors that came in to update his condition to him and whoever else was in the room at the time, their voices sounded monotonous and ran like molasses. Half the time he could barely understand what they were telling him, but he nodded dumbly anyways. Or at least he tried too. The muted colors of the physicians in their uniforms that blurred and skipped through his vision never seemed to acknowledge him. Even his own thoughts were incoherent and twisted. It allowed him to forget the pain that he’d endured, but as a result it also caused him to forget other things. He couldn’t remember, for instance, how he’d gotten into the godforsaken hospital. A place that was away from the cells and torture, but still very much treated like a prisoner in the hospital where he was restrained to his own bed and not allowed to leave ‘his’ own room. Away from Alakaso’s domineering presence, but still interrogated by the likes of the NSA official Jeremy Marlens. One time Tony had thought he heard Bishop screaming and the brown-haired agent had become inconsolable as he yelled for them to stop whatever they’d been doing to her. It had taken two doctors, his own boss and a round of sedatives to calm him down. Tony knew he was free. He knew that he was safe. It’s what Gibbs and Tim and Abby and whoever else walked through those doors incessantly repeated. He was safe, but it didn’t necessarily feel like it. 

Tony should have felt happy, ecstatic even, but instead his heart felt as heavy as the bandages and casts that were weighing him down. They wouldn’t let him leave until he showed more definite signs of recovery. They wouldn’t let him see Bishop because she was still in ICU. They wouldn’t even let him get out of the bed because they were convinced he would harm himself further. He was lucky that Gibbs had convinced the doctors to release him from the restraints, that despite their smooth cotton composition, had reminded him too much of his days in captivity. Dinozzo was lucky that Vance was doing everything in his executive power to do what he could for his agent. Dinozzo was lucky he had coworkers – a family – that cared so much about him. But given plenty of time to think in his constrained abyss, sometimes Tony wondered why.

In the beginning, Tim or Abby or someone else from his team would come and talk with him or just sit with him, even when Tony himself was incoherent or to exhausted to return the favor. If he had had the energy he would have teased them maybe even joked at the pity in theirs eyes that Tony tried desperately to ignore. However, as he began to recover, the hospital suddenly decided to reinforce their visiting hours, and now he was mostly alone with his thoughts. And as he watched the sun rise and set from the small window with a spectacular view of a brick wall and abandoned parking lot and felt the morphine and it’s addictive qualities slowly being weaned off his system, his thoughts became clearer. Dinozzo could not decide if that was a good or bad thing. 

Now that the medication was being weaned off of his system, the pain and the nightmares seemed to worm there way back into his mind. Although he could sit up completely now, his broken and cracked bones shifted with his movements. Every movement was an immense effort. The clarity brought back things he didn’t want to remember. Sahud’s cruelty filled milky eyes and laughing face. Bishop’s bloodied form. A barrel of a gun being shoved into his face. The rusty silver knife being driven into his leg. The same leg that was now wrapped so tightly in gauze it no longer felt like a part of him. Each event haunted his waking consciousness and bothered him constantly when he tried the sleep. Because when he was completely alone, the room felt cramped and claustrophobic and gave him way to much time to think. There had been talk of physical therapy, so his leg could get back its range of motion. Dinozzo would give anything to get out of the room, but all Tony could see about when they were discussing the matter was the gruesome flashes of the atrocities he had endured. When his mind had finally cleared, the doctors had finished and were already exiting the door. 

His hospital room was dark now, only illuminated by the fluorescent lighting outside the room and the small TV in the corner playing Friends reruns. The clock ticking just past one in the morning. He was alone now. Palmer and Tim had left hours ago as the nurses had ushered them out. Only Joseph Keller, a beach blonde rambunctious NCIS agent, who had filled in Tony’s place on the team while he’d been gone, and some fifty-year-old mall copish hospital security guard, remained. Both sat just outside his room in their designated security posts. Keller fiddled with his phone, while the security guard leafed through the newspaper. Neither paid any attention to him. Probably because he was pretending to be asleep, to avoid arising suspicion from doctors. Tony had had enough of stranger’s hands touching him in unwanted places. 

 

Dinozzo gazed out the window at the empty parking lot. A single flickering bulb gave the whole area an eerie overcast, but he would have given anything to be out there instead of in here. Stop doing that. He told himself. Stop being so negative. The brown-haired agent swallowed as he forced himself to look away from the window. Instead, Tony fixed his attention back on the thick layers of gauze wrapped around his leg; it throbbed painfully as blood ran through it. He could only barely move his toes. A peel of soft laughter echoed from the TV as the audience laughed at some joke Joey Tribianni made. For some reason Tony doesn’t find the jokes as funny as they used to be. Out the corner of his eye he saw the lights flicker from the outside hallway but when Tony glanced over everything seemed normal. Both Joseph and the mall cop security guard were gone. Probably on another coffee break. 

He changed the channel again. Full House. Yet another sitcom. He hated the forced laughter and the overly optimistic attitudes everyone held. The sitcoms and their laugh tracks Tony had watched consistently over the last few decades had lost their feel-good, lightheartedness that he had come to enjoy so much within the span of one month. It just didn’t feel the same. 

Tony heard the doorknob turn as the door opened and a shadowed figure entered the room. At first he thought it was the doctor or nurse coming to check his vitals. He was very, very wrong.

The muted laughter from the television seemed to laugh tauntingly at him as Alakaso made his way into the room. The familiar wicked grin on his face and the same crazy glint in his eyes. Tony’s throat felt constricted and sweat poured down his face. He wanted to scream as the muscular, six-foot tall torturer makes his way over to the hospital bed. Not again. Not again. He was dead. Gibbs had told him he was dead. Yet here he stood in the hospital room wearing his iconic bloodstained, steel-toed boots. Then why was he here? He was dead. He was supposed to be dead.

“Tsk. Tsk. Mr. Dinozzo. When will you ever learn? You can’t out run your captor.” Alakaso murmured. The clock that ticked loudly form the other side of the room sounded like death tolls signaling the second coming. The torturer stood unnervingly close at the side of Tony’s bed, his scarred hands trailed up against the metal bar that barricaded the cot to prevent patients from falling. Only inches away from the brown haired agent’s skin. Dinozzo does not reply. He was to paralyzed with fear to do so. He desperately tried to do something. Anything. Then he remembered the call button that would instantly bring medical nurses resting to his room, but Alakaso beat him to the punch and quickly yanked the device out of his reach. 

“I admit it did take quite a while to find you, but considering your team really didn’t do a good job of hiding you...” Alakaso criticized. He smiled sadistically revealing a nasty set of toothy, cavity filled grin. The man’s shadow cast and eerie aura over the room. An aura that made Tony’s blood run cold. Where did everyone go? “You know I considered killing other people before I came here. But the husband’s already dead. Your father clearly doesn’t give a shit about you. And all the rest of her family is either dead or in the military so… I guess I’ll have to kill you instead.” 

Another peal of laughter erupted from the television as Alakaso wrapped his hand around Tony’s neck, cutting off his air supply. Dinozzo tried futilely to tear himself out of the larger man’s grip. He tried to make a sound, any sound to alert the people outside what was happening, but only a hoarse squeak came out. In response, his torturer only put more pressure on his neck. Then pulled out a pocketknife from somewhere behind him. The sharp blade glinted dauntingly under the television screen’s light. 

“That’s your problem, Mr. Dinozzo. You’re to weak!” Alakaso cackled as he squeezed harder. “You couldn’t protect your team. You couldn’t protect Bishop. You can’t even fucking protect yourself!” 

The darkness began to overcome the edges of his eyes and the horrifying man above him began to blur. Tony twitched frantically as he tried to harness more strength to fight the man off. 

“You should have just given me the codes.” Alakaso muttered. His face was inches away from Tony’s own. Dinozzo scrunched his eyes tightly together as he prepared for the worst. Then in one swift movement, the torturer buried the pocketknife into Tony’s abdomen.

Dinozzo eyes flew open as he shot forward and pulled painful gasps of air into his body. His ribs protested angrily as he frantically tried to pull the sharp object from his body. There was nothing there. No knife. No hot blood expelling itself from the grievous wound. No red on the pristine, white sheets of the hospital bed. Not even a hole in his medical scrubs. Tony struggled to control his breathing, as he looked around the room frantically for the torturer that had inhabited the room only moments before. It was empty. He was alone. 

The night nurses moved quickly and quietly down the hallway outside of the door. Both Keller and the security guard sat at their posts. Keller fiddled with his phone, while the security guard leafed through the newspaper. Neither acknowledged him. It was like nothing had happened. Because nothing did happen. A tiny voice told him in his head. But it had felt so real. Tony had felt Alakaso wrap his hand around his neck. He had felt the knife tear through his skin. 

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

It was half past eleven.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Tony groaned softly as he forced himself to sit back onto the mattress. It hadn’t been real. Alakaso. The knife. It hadn’t been real. It was all a dream.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

He does not sleep for the rest of the night.

 

Day Eleven Since Rescue…

Location: Field Office in Washington Navy Yard, 1:37 am

Timothy McGee shifted a new batch of files in his hands as he pressed the button for the third floor elevator marked ‘Higher Level Access Only’. The third floor led Sec Nav and McGee caught the envious glance of one of NCIS’s programmers as he waited for the elevator to arrive. Within NCIS, salary, title, the size of one’s office or any other corporate indicators of power did not measure status. Status at NCIS was purely a matter of clearance level and access to information. And due to his team’s close connections with Vance among many other things, Mcgee was one of a handful of people who had access to it at anytime. 

He stepped into the elevator and glanced up at the scanner lens mounted over the door as he swiped his electronic keycard. Ever since the bombing and other recent terrorist threats against the facility, all restricted areas were equipped with cameras to monitor movements of personnel as they entered in and out the building. There was a low electronic beep as the doors slid open at the third floor. He emerged into another room and looked up at another monitor as he swiped his card again. After a cycling pause, the door buzzed open. He was inside.

With it’s red night lights and purposefully muted colors, the room packed full of electronic equipment gave it a cramped, claustrophobic impressions despite the spaciousness of the area. From floor to ceiling, dozens of video monitors and LEDs flickered and glowed as the few technicians whispered in hushed tones as the tapped away at their computers. Sec Nav was the nerve center of NCIS. All communications from leaders, diplomats, and agents around the world often came through this channel. Not only video transmission, but also audio and even large packages of data as well. It was the naval equivalent of the SCIF room in terms of security, information m and clearance. And it was the massive chunks of encrypted data and the number crunching that came along with it that had kept McGee in this room for so long.

 

The computer expert rubbed his tired eyes as collapsed into the black swiveling chair in front of one of the many desks in the room. Tim had stayed up all night. All. Damn. Night. And right now it looked like his work was going to pour into the early morning. Something that had become common in the recent weeks. He had poured over page after page of case notes, field reports, and autopsy files. Silently cursing each individual’s messy cursive, idiosyntric shorthand, and various other forms of handwriting that shifted constantly from page to page. They were reopening the cases. All of them. The bodies of the individuals who had supposedly worked with Bishop to develop the file, Jonathan Chen, Devon Preus, Shin Yee Teh, had been exhumed and sent to Ducky and Palmer for additional autopsies. The autopsies had been ongoing for the last several days as the medical examiners struggled to be as thorough as possible. Additional toxicity samples were also being taken and sent to Abby’s lab for the analysis of any potential abnormalities. This time they were looking for evidence of foul play. Because if Marlens had been correct in his brazen assumptions, then it wouldn’t be logical for the others just to perish so quickly while Bishop’s torture had been drawn out. It just didn’t make any sense and because McGee was the one who brought it up, it was his job to figure out why. 

When Gibbs had ordered him back to base to investigate the claims and look for connections, Tim couldn’t help but feel that his boss was pushing him back after seeing how Bishop’s and Tony’s conditions were effecting him. It had been painful to watch Tony become noticeably withdrawn. Sometimes Dinozzo had tried to make jokes in an effort to pretend he was fine, but they were usually without humor and didn’t have the normal lighthearted tone to carry them. And after years of working with the battered agent and seeing the pain and subduedness behind his eyes, Tim definitely saw the difference. It also hurt McGee to have to deny, per doctor’s orders, Tony’s requests about Bishop, which came more frequently than anything else. In which each time, he or Gibbs or Abby, had to explain to Tony why they couldn’t see each other right now and Tony would give a small smile as he acquiesced. But the smile never meant the brown-haired Casanova’s eyes anymore and it looked like Tony was just going through the motions. 

McGee’s interactions with Bishop had made him feel even worse. The former NSA analyst had dissolved into hysterics, after they’d been informed of Jake’s death. In retrospect, that probably had not been the best idea. Bishop had had to be sedated and when she had woken hours later, she had completely closed herself off to everyone. At least Tony spoke; Bishop only lied there with back pressed against the wall as she looked morosely at the room before her. No prodding from anyone would change that, and the psychologist who had begun to make her rounds around the hospital had said it was probably a coping mechanism she had developed at some point throughout the torture. It didn’t make Tim feel any better as he kept his distance. Like Tony, the spark had left her eyes, now replaced with a hooded glassy gaze. Only occasionally wavering from that to flashes of fear. It was heartbreaking to see the most outgoing members of his team become replaced with former shells of themselves. McGee felt useless because he couldn’t do anything to help. Only watch and placate with false reassurances that he didn’t even believe. Because everything wasn’t going to be okay. Not after this. Not after the hell they’d been through. So Tim had jumped at the opportunity to do something where he could be of use and hopefully help Bishop and Tony in the process. Because he couldn’t stand to wait around to see whatever Marlens had in store for her.

Around half past eleven earlier that night, which had been around nine Columbian time, McGee and the other technicians in the room had received a massive information dump of encrypted data that had been transmitted into the system. It had been sent by Eric Benét, the U.S diplomat who had aided in his fellow coworkers rescue, and General Juarez, who had helped him gather and compile the information. Due to the sensitivity of the information, the Colombian government had deemed it necessary to restrict and encrypt all the material within the files to prevent prying eyes from looking at them. An all to prevalent likelihood due to the corruptness within its ranks. Unfortunately, they did not send an encryption key and McGee and the rest of the technicians were left to decrypt the files themselves. That had been three hours ago.

The technicians referred to the process as ’data recovery’ or sometimes as ‘data salvage’. They had been sent hundreds of gigabytes of files, with an estimated hundred to two hundred worth of gigabytes that were relevant to their case. To recover or salvage data meant that coherent meaning had to be pulled to the surface from the depths of massive electronic storage. It was a slow and delicate process, in which each relevant piece of information had to be carefully extracted and put into a separate file. All of the information ever revealed in this room had to be catalogued, stored, and made available for instant retrieval and transport to other areas like the SCIF room as deemed necessary. A very long and tedious process. As a result, it wasn’t really surprising that the technicians worked constantly around the clock.

As the hours ticked by, bits and pieces of information began to reveal itself and by three o’ clock the majority of seemingly relevant information had been recovered. Without hesitation, Tim began combing through the files as he surveyed the new information. Behind him a new round of technicians began checking themselves into the posts to help him comb through the information as the tired ones left for their homes and families. Tim didn’t have those obligations, Delilah was still in Dubai for some sort of meeting, and it would feel like some sort of injustice to go home to an empty house with all that was happening. 

Tim drummed his fingers on the keyboard as he sat with a pencil behind his ear pondering the new information on the computer before him and took another swig of his now cold coffee. The first file was a recruitment report and psychological evaluation concerning Alakaso Chavez. Similar to the United States military, in Columbia, every recruit, particularly those lobbying for positions of high importance, underwent extensive background checks as well as three days of intensive testing to determine not only skills but potential biases. The translated report was troubling to say the least.

HIGHLY INTUITIVE/ RESOURCEFUL/ LONGEVITY/ DRIVEN TO SUCEED AT DEFINED GOALS/ FEARLESSNESS/ CONFIDENT/ HARD-WORKER/ METICULOUS

A little denotation at the bottom noted that he ‘would do anything necessary to complete his tasks.’ The summary continued on to the deceased terrorist’s less desirable traits.

TENOUS HUMAN RAPPORT/ CONSTANT NEED FOR APPROVAL/ DOMINEERING/ INSENSITIVE/ ARROGANT/SHORT-TEMPERED/ IMPULSIVE/ PRONE TO VIOLENCE.

A little denotation at the bottom noted that mild symptoms of intermittent explosive disorder made Alakaso increasingly unreliable. No further testing had been done for any other mental irregularities. Despite the severity of the negative qualities that massively outweighed any remotely positive ones, Alakaso Chavez had made his way into not only the Colombian Federal Armed Forces, but to a high ranking position as well. A small ‘in conclusion’ summary at the end of the page indicated how Chavez had achieved such notorious status. 

Despite this recruit’s negative psychological attributes and sign of some degree of mental illness, the recruit has showed outstanding performance both physically and mentally on the field and within the classroom. Recruit has exceeded expectations of numerous field and site leaders and continues to improve in weaker areas everyday. His willingness to follow orders implicitly without question and go extraordinary lengths to complete each task, will him a valuable asset within the military. Recruit’s tenuous attitude allows him to complete orders that other soldiers are unwilling to participate in. Although his is cruel towards his equals and inferiors, it is noted that he has never questioned a superior. It has been determined by the military physician that any dominant negative trait can be potentially subdued or reversed if monitored under strict supervision. Recruit’s inability to assert himself as a leader in the field, allows him to be highly pliable and for our leaders to mold him into an efficient soldier. {We} have deemed it strategically advantageous to have this recruit as part of our team where he will become an extraordinary asset in the military. 

The final report was signed and approved by Colombian’s Recruitment Advisory Panel in 1992. The official stamping done, by none other than General Juarez himself. Over the last two decades, it had become apparent that Alakaso Chavez had quickly rose through the ranks, eventually bringing terror to the Ellie and Tony, before two bullets regulated him to being a bloodied corpse in a body bag.

McGee saw red as he took in the apparent carelessness that the Recruitment Panel used when gathering recruits for the military, but he was also left a little confused by the reports. He now had more questions than answers. The report stated that when Alakaso was a recruit, he had an ‘inability’ to assert himself as a leader within the field and was prone to a constant need for approval. Nothing like the man he had seen yelling slurs as he held a gun up against Tony’s head. Nothing like the man who had left his coworkers bed ridden for days. The information contradicted each other.

A monotone buzz signaled throughout the air, a sign that someone from out the room was trying to gain contact. Tim let one of technicians answer the one phone in the room as he continued to comb through the files, but he was eventually pulled aside. It was for him.

“McGee.” It was Palmer, the assistant medical examiner. 

“Jimmy? What are you doing here?” McGee asked checking his watch it was just past four in the morning.

“Working. I’ve been here all night.” The examiner said tiredly.

“What about Breena… and Vicky?” McGee asked. Although the situation was important, Tim was reluctant to pull the man away from his family for so long. They all needed something to hold onto.

“Out of town.” The man replied shortly. “Look Tim. We found something on Jonathan Chen.”

McGee paused as he glanced down at the files before him and then at the other technicians who were helping him go through the information file as he waited for Palmer to carry on.

“Due to speed the car was going at the time of the crash, much of his broken bones were attributed to that, but Doctor Mallard and I found several other fractures that were inconsistent with injuries that normally occur in a vehicular wreck. They were smaller and more close together than those types of injuries typically are caused by narrower items than the baseboard of a car. Like metal rods or crowbars.” Palmer informed.

“So the man was beaten before he got in the crash?” Tim asked.

“That’s not all. Some of the burns were inflicted before he died.”

“The car did catch fire, Palmer.” McGee noted. Although he was anxious to draw some sort of connections, the agent in him knew they could not make connections out of thin air.

“The car caught fire after Jonathan crashed. He had healing burn wounds which indicate that he had definitely suffered some form of injury prior to the crash.” Palmer insisted.

McGee pondered this new information heavily. He remembered seeing the burn wounds that spattered across Bishop’s back and arms and the cracked ribs they reported on her back. He remembered all the various stages of healing. It couldn’t be.

“McGee?” Palmer asked. 

“Uh… Call Gibbs and tell him what you told me. Tell him there was evidence of foul play.” McGee said as the connections popped up at him.

“It’s four in the morning!” Jimmy said incredulously sounding more awake than before. 

“Rule Number 3. Palmer. Never be unreachable.” Mcgee hung up the phone and practically ran back toward the files, this time looking for something very particular. 

The file he was looking for appeared almost immediately. It was a file that consisted merely a list of time and date stamps. Time signatures were customary in order to verify that military personnel was actually completing their service in addition to monitoring where they were at all times. Each date and time signature on the paper before him signified when Alakaso Chavez had checked into either the military facility Gibbs and McGee had visited or had checked in with reigning authority at the installation. Alakaso, as it turned out, had checked in a lot, almost meticulously. He not only the time stamps, but also little descriptions were added at the side that explained what he had supposedly been doing at the time. Alibis. Something about that didn’t add up either. Tim spun his chair back to the other table where he had laid out the case files of Bishop’s previous coworkers who had worked on the mystery case Marlens had talked about. Desperately trying to find a connection between what Palmer had told him and Alakaso’s whereabouts.

Then he realized that something was off. The dates didn’t add up.

In front of him were proven military records that verified Alakaso wasn’t in San Francisco when Jonathan Chen’s burned corpse was found in the aftermath of a fiery car crash in October. He wasn’t in Boston the next year when Devon Preus died of a heart attack. Or in Philadelphia in March when Shin Yee’s body was found in an alley after a mugging gone wrong. In fact, Alakaso had been at the instillation in Quibó. The whole damn time. 

McGee wanted to throw the files down in frustration. The file told him that Alakaso had been a model citizen, only occasionally leaving the installation in Quibó to for an undercover sting operation at a rebel outpost. Where of course, he had performed flawlessly as he listened to his orders, but McGee’s gut told him something was off and Gibbs taught him to always trust his gut. All the reports said he was a follower and they said he was at the camp for the extended duration of his time. But the cases were too similar to be ignored. And there were to many inconsistencies in Alakaso’s file to be disregarded. But if all that information was in fact true, then it alluded to a much more foreboding possibility. There was someone else involved. 

The new information was perplexing and terrifying. Mostly terrifying. McGee eyes drooped and heart sank as he listened to the pitter-patter of keys being pressed in the room around him as he contemplated this information. It seemed for every step the team took in the investigation, the information given them always put them two steps behind. For every file they opened left them with more questions than answers. The sound of computer keys pattered tauntingly in the background as if the whole room was laughing at him when he couldn’t find an answer.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Ti-

“Oh my god!” The sudden shout of surprise shaken McGee away from his thoughts. The sound of the computer keys ceased almost immediately as everyone turned to investigate the noise. In the far back, computer programmer and decryption specialist, Keith Moorehouse, had jerked away from the computer screen as if it were on fire and was now violently retching in trashcan. David Premack, the computer technician next to Keith, leaned over to see what was on the compute, and recoiled away as well. Soon McGee was among the throng of several other technicians to see what had caused the men to react the way they did and quickly found out both technicians had good reason to react the way they did.

On the screen before him were two images. The first of a presumed many high-definition images that portrayed countless atrocities and pain being inflicted by various men onto very very familiar faces. The nausea welled up with in him and the cold coffee he had been consuming all night, threatened to rise up within him. This could not wait. McGee realized. He needed to call Gibbs right away.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, sorry for the late delay. From now on chapters will be posted on a month by month basis because of life and college applications among other things. So they might not be as steady as they once were. On another note, I’m beginning to bring in flashbacks of events that occurred before and during Bishop and Tony’s capture and that will be written in italics. I wrote an extra long chapter as an apology.

**First and foremost, sorry for the late delay. From now on chapters will be posted on a month by month basis because of life and college applications among other things. So they might not be as steady as they once were. On another note, I’m beginning to bring in flashbacks of events that occurred before and during Bishop and Tony’s capture and that will be written in italics. I wrote an extra long chapter as an apology.**

_Location Navy Field Office_

_Forty-Eight Days Ago_

_Thwack* Thwack * Thwack*_

_It started like most days. Begrudgingly, a bit sloppily and with a huge dose of caffeine.  The Navy Yard’s coffee was horrifically bad this morning, but Tony had already powered through two cups of it greedily and was working his way through another. He was grateful for the extra kick of energy the steaming liquid provided him with each morning. Especially grateful that it counteracted the lack of sleep he’d been getting in the recent weeks. Tony’s dreams had been getting progressively worse within the last few weeks and he’s more disturbed by them than he cares to admit. He hates dreaming. Hates waking up in the middle of the night covered in sweat. He never exactly remembered what they were about, probably about whatever the current case of the week was, but it bothers him nonetheless. The brown haired agent was pretty sure he wasn’t alone in his dreams, but he doesn’t feel like asking around and he doesn’t feel like sharing. So Dinozzo did what he does best, distracted himself with humor._

_“Don’t you ever wonder where those boats go, McGee? The ones Gibbs keeps ‘working’ on in his basement. I mean we’ve been going down there for years and the boats keep changing! How is he getting them out of there?” Tony wondered aloud absentmindedly as he leaned back in his rolling chair. The red beanbag he tossed rhymtically in the air came down each time with a soft thwack. The dark haired special agent couldn’t even remember the last time his boss even went on a boat, much less one as big as the ones he’d been building._

_Thwack* Thwack * Thwack*_

_“Tony, will you please stop? I can’t concentrate with you throwing that thing around.” McGee called irritably from his workstation, ceasing his ferocious typing just long enough to express his annoyance. Tony was not swayed._

_“Concentrate? All of this bustling and rustling and you can’t concentrate? We don’t even have a case yet! What could you possibly be-… Wait a second, you’re talking to Delilah aren’t you?” Tony teased, immediately jumping to, judging by the reddening of Tim’s ears, the correct conclusion._

_“No! Well… maybe. You know time zones are a bitch.” Tim murmured, cracking his knuckles as he leant back into his seat. “So it’s emailing for the time being. Lot’s and lot’s of emails.”_

_Tony heard the obvious wistfulness that dripped heavily from his phrase, but figured that intruding on Tim’s relationship wasn’t the best idea. The computer analyst liked keeping his work separate from his personal life anyways. That fact was cemented when his sister, Sarah, came into the picture as a supposed murder, and Tim went all rouge trying to protect her instead of just telling the team. It was to early in the morning for that crap anyway, so instead Tony kept the mood light._

_“Long winded, thought provoking, heart wrenching love letters right? Because if you haven’t it means you failed as a ma-“ Tony started, but the men’s casual workplace banter was interrupted by the newest member of the team making her way into the office._

_“It’s 8:12 probie!” Tony said checking his wristwatch as Eleanor Bishop collapsed into her seat. “You’re late.”_

_“Yeah.” Bishop murmured distractedly, sweeping her long blonde hair over her shoulder, as she dug into her satchel and fished out her laptop. Tony watched perplexedly as the former NSA analyst gnawed on her thumbnail, something she always did when she was nervous, as she waited for her computer to start up. The usually annoyingly chipper agent hadn’t even bothered to say hi. Was everyone having an internal crisis today? He turned to McGee to see if he had noticed anything off, but the computer analyst returned an equally confused look. Huh. Tony thought about asking her, but McGee beat him to the punch._

                                                                                                       

_“Uh… Bishop? Everything okay?” He asked hesitantly._

_“Huh? Uh…yeah… Sorry. It’s just… a friend of mine- a co worker- died yesterday.” The former NSA analyst murmured quietly, looking away from the computer and meeting their eyes for the first time that morning. The sadness was palpable in her silvery irises, but something else too. Something Tony couldn’t quite place. Confusion? Fear?_

_“Oh Ellie, I’m so sorry. Should… should you be working?” McGee asked, knowing first hand how quickly personal emotions could mess up a case. Greif and guns never tended to mix well together._

_“No.... It’s okay... We weren’t close. We just… Er… We used to work together a while back. It was just kind of sudden. That’s all.” Bishop said, picking at the loose thread on her plaid shirt, as she spun cross-legged back to her computer. Definitely confusion, Tony decided._

_A heavy silence settled over the bullpen, no one knew how to start up another conversation after that revelation. Once her computer had turned on completely, Bishop made no move to work on it. Just stared it contemplatively. Tim turned back to his email reluctantly and then steadily began typing away. And Tony set the red beanbag down, silently acknowledging, that maybe now was not the time for it. A couple of minutes passed before anyone dared to speak again. The silence was only broken when the grey haired marine rounded the corner, staple cup of coffee in hand._

_“We’ve got a case.” The trio immediately jumped to their feet, go bags ready, each of them anxious to get their minds of their own inner turmoil and on to other matters._

_“Where’s the body boss?” Tony asked eagerly ready to get a jump-start on the day._

_“No body. Just some files.” The supervisory special agent noted as he dumped a stack of beige folders onto their desks. “It’s been getting passed through the agencies. Metro PD. ISB. CID. Someone from the NSA referred the case to us after some evidence showed up suggesting that the man might have been a marine. They want to see if we have any luck before they transfer it to the hire ups and the case runs cold.”_

_Tony reached for the file._ _The folder was thin. It only held a few sheets of whitish yellow paper marked with the standard ‘confidential’ stamps and administrative seals of the agencies Gibbs had rattled off. A cursory glance revealed only a few memos, a lab report, a letter, and a couple of crime scene and autopsy photos of a cold bullet ridden body._

_“Boss? This file is practically empty.” McGee frowned. The lack of information wasn’t giving them a lot to work with._

_“They were stumped. The image was taken two months ago; they don’t even know the name of the man. No one in the area has declared anyone missing that fits his description. We’re just going to work with what we’ve got.” Gibbs informed, setting his own steaming mug of coffee down on his desk._

_“What’s this?” McGee asked. Pointing to a small scrap of blurry paper that lay in the corner next to the body, partially obscured by the debris surrounding the man. The older agent frowned as he scrutinized the blurry object._

_“Send it to the lab, let Abby clear it up.” He said at last._

_Hours later, when the photo was refurbished to as high definition format as it could get, the NCIS special case response team was no closer to solving the case than when Gibbs had first handed them the file. Tony groaned as Palmer approached them sheepishly, handing off the new and improved images._

_“Abby was to lazy to come up.” Palmer explained awkwardly as he handed the file off to Tony before quickly excusing himself back down to the autopsy room. The rest of the team was to engross in their work to even bother looking up. The new image revealed blurry and microscopic_

_The tiny ink lettering read: 198 Zdvklqjwrq Dyhqxh  YD 22101_

_Gibberish. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He squinted. Looked at it closely. And when it became apparent that no sudden epiphany was going to jump out at him, Tony alerted the others for help._

_“Guys. Abby cleared the image up in the lab. It reads 198 Zdvklqjwrq Dyhqxh  YD 22101. It looks like a bunch of nonsense, but there has to be a reason it was left near the body. Do you think it means anything?”_

_Both Bishop and McGee jumped up from their desks and skimpy files to take a look at the new evidence._

_“Wait a second. This is a famous code. The Caesar cipher.” Tim realized after a couple minutes._

_“Caesar Cipher?” Gibbs asked, brow furrowed as he wasted for an explanation._

_“The Caesar Cipher.  It substitutes the original letter for the third letter before it. Like A is X, B is Y, and so on…” Tim explained hastily as he grabbed a piece of scrap paper from his desk. Bishop leant over his shoulder to get a better look at the photo._

_“Yeah. I remember seeing this in one of the cases at the NSA.” The blonde haired agent said, snapping out of her previous funk._

_Tim scrawled out the code for the cipher and hastily wrote the corresponding letters. Once he started applying the code to the scrawled out letter, slowly, but surely the gibberish began rearranging shape._

_198 Zdvklqjwrq Dyhqxh YD 22101 turned into…._

_198 Washington Avenue VA 22101._

_An address. There was silence as the team contemplated this information. An address written in code, left next to a dead body, that no one had reported missing. It was unsettling to say the least, and_

_“I don’t feel right about this. It’s too convenient.” The team leader admitted, but then he turned and headed for his desk to gather his gear. “ Grab your gear. McGee, you’re with me.  Call the Metro PD and tell them to back us up. Dinozzo, Bishop take the truck.”_

_…………………………._

_198 Washington Avenue  VA 22101 ended up being a heavily forested, very secluded area, far away from the city limits and practically in the middle of nowhere. The rundown house appeared like it had been abandoned for quite some time and looked like it was about to fall apart. Two floors of rickety, shoddily put together wood looked like it was going to collapse at any moment. Overgrown grass and untended weeds threatened the overrun the entire home. And as the sun set around them, there seemed to be no lights on in the house. It didn’t look as if anyone was home. The only signs of life came from the animals that inhabited the land around it. The buzzing of cicadas, the humming of birds, and the low chirps of crickets that had begun to sing as the darkness began to take precedence around them. Tony checked his watch as he slammed the car doors shut. It was getting late, but the cops hadn’t arrived yet. It had taken two in a half hours to get here. If they didn’t want this to be a waste of a trip, they’d have to go in now. The team was already going to be late for dinner tonight. Apparently Gibbs had the same mode of thinking._

_“I want the two of you to go around back, McGee and I will take the front entrance. Use your coms to communicate, let us know if you run into any trouble.”_

_The trio moved to take their positions, but Gibbs kept Tony back._

_“You guys need to have each others backs.” His boss instructed. Protect her, were the unspoken words that radiated from that sentence. Tony nodded. He wondered if Gibbs knew about her former coworker dying. He always seemed to figure out things like that on his own, like a sixth sense of some kind._

_Tony kept Gibb’s instructions to heart and kept a careful eye on Bishop as both agents rounded the back of the beaten down house. Ivy and kudzu wrapped thickly around the contents of what had once been a backyard. A rusty swing set and a rotting, wooden shed were among its victims. The yard was large and sprawling, indicative of the usual parameters of a typical country home. Three separate paths intertwined together, circling around a fixture of what might have been a fountain before leading out to the back fence. The previously marble paths were vastly overrun by overpowering weeds and dead grass. No one had obviously set foot there in a long time. It was reminiscent of a post apocalyptic movie scene like the one in I Am Legend. There were no obvious signs of movement, just the shifting of leaves as they rustled in the wind. No sign of life really. Even the cicadas had quieted down._

_“Backyard is all cl-” Tony whispered into his comm, but barely finished the sentence before two men in masks burst out of the underbrush and sprinted across the yard,  climbing effortlessly over the fence opposite them._

_“NCIS! Stop!” Bishop and Tony yelled simultaneously and took off after the suspects._ _Bishop, being more lithe and more youthful than him, had shot ahead of Tony faster than he could comprehend and by the time he set foot on the path, the former NSA analyst was already scrambling over the fence and into the forest after the two unidentified men._

_“Bishop! WAIT!” Tony yelled after her as he followed as quickly as he could. He heard distant gunfire coming from the disappearing house behind him, letting him know that McGee and Gibbs had encountered trouble of their own, but he could do nothing to help them. Tony wasz in charge of Bishop, he had and he knew she wouldn’t be able to handle two fully armed, grown men on her own. It was his job to protect her. The police department backup was on the way. They would help his other teammates. As Dinozzo pulled over the fence and began sprinting after Bishop and the men who were quickly putting space in between him._

_The first thing he realized as he gained ground was that trees were so thick that he lost his bearings almost immediately. The brush got thicker and thicker and the vines weaved tighter and tighter, reaching out to scratch at him as he ran by. By now, he could hear his own heartbeat pound in his ears and his lungs burned with the intense effort. He knew they had to catch up to their suspect soon. The tall trees had already obscured what was left of the light on the darkened path. The house grew more and more obscured and smaller behind him, until it almost disappeared from sight, but he could hear the police sirens approaching through his coms. Finally. The cavalry around here seemed to have a habit of coming to late._

_Tony’s gut growled uncomfortably as the winding passages took them further and further away from civilization. As he tried to gain ground, he realized the steps that the men were taking seemed very deliberate. They were running fast, but only fast enough to keep the NCIS agents on their tail. It was almost as if… As if the suspects were leading them somewhere.  He turned onto a long stretch just in time to see Bishop disappear around a corner about two hundred meters away. The ominous feeling swelled up in as she disappeared from sight. He picked up the pace, desperate to not lose her. Because honestly he didn’t know how much running he could take._

_Then a sharp cry echoed throughout the forestall the wildlife in the surrounding area went silent. Followed by a loud thump, a sharp electronic shriek, then silence on his coms. Suddenly, it felt like he was alone in the big burgeoning forest. Completely alone. Adrenaline coursed through his system as he pounded after her, a sickening feeling overcoming him. There were only a few reasons that Bishop’s com could have failed. And none of them had a happy ending._

**_Crackle_ ** _“Tony? Bishop? Where are you guys?” McGee’s voice rang crackily over the coms. “Metro PD is on sight. State your position!”_

_“Not exactly sure right now…” Tony yelled breathlessly as he followed down the path where Bishop and the suspects had disappeared. Where was she? The path ended with a cluster of bushes and tangleweeds. Where did they go? Had he passed it? No. A very visibly disturbed section stuck out noticeably against the other undisturbed areas of forest._

_Tony put on the last burst of energy and drew his service weapon as he rounded the corner. Exiting out of the brush and into a small clearing. As he reached it, however, he wasn’t prepared enough for the situation that he was presented with. The brown haired agent skidded to a stop and hastily lifted his gun as he surveyed the situation.  Nothing. No one was there. But someone had been there. There were footprints. Lots of footprints. They criss crossed over each other in odd, seemingly random directions. They blanketed the small area, but only some looked very fresh. There was a very noticeable skid mark, like someone had fallen then been dragged away. Someone small. Someone like Bishop. But it was quiet. Where did they go? Stray branches and dry leaves cracked underneath his soles as he cautiously investigated the scene.  He hadn’t been that slow. Maybe a minute or two behind her. Max. Where was she?_

_Then Dinozzo saw something that stuck out from the rest of the nature magazineesque surroundings. Partially obscured by the overgrown bushes, a black circular item threatened to be glanced over until it glinted noticeably in the moonlight. He picked the mysterious object up. The black leather ran smoothly across his fingers. The cold silver metal of the engraved bottom chilled his blood to the core. Bishop’s badge._

_It was then Tony felt the hot gust of breath on the back of his sweaty neck. He couldn’t see who was behind him, but he had a sense of being loomed over all the same. Thanks to the moonlight, there was a grotesque shadow distorted by the light thrown across the ground to the brown haired agent’s right, twisting its distorted shape up against the darkening path. He ran cold all over and felt the adrenaline rush kick in, jumpstarting his instincts that had him tightening his grip on his weapon. He stepped forward again even as he dropped his flashlight to brace his gun hand on his left forearm as he turned._

_A man. Not one of the ones that they’d been chasing, but the silver revolver that glinted menacingly in the moonlight, quickly told Tony which side he was really on. Then another man emerged from shadows. Then another. Then another… who held a very familiar head of blonde hair tightly in his grip. Bishop._

_Tony had to squint to really see them. Although he was out of the woods, Tony could barely make out any distinguishing features. Not with the sun setting rapidly in the distance and the ski caps and nondescript clothing they wore over their faces. The first had Bishop pinned against his chest and had her elbow twisted painfully behind her back.  Her service weapon was shoved in his back pocket alongside his own silver revolver. Her com hung visibly from her ear, obviously broken, as the wires protruded from the head. Blood dripped from her skinned knees, probably from when one of the mystery men had pushed her to the ground. She looked more winded from the running, than actually scared or hurt, but Tony knew she was putting on a strong front. Because the odds of this situation were obviously not in their favor.  Outnumbered and out gunned, four against two were never good odds._

_“Put your gun down or we’ll kill her.” An obviously American accent rang out. Calm and collected. Like he’d done this all before. Like he was a professional. He couldn’t tell which one said it, but Tony knew the men were serious and he couldn’t afford to test their patience. Gibbs and the police were not coming anytime soon. He needed to stall._

_“Hey. We can make some sort of-” Tony began. He was quickly silenced by the audible sounds of safeties being clicked off. Fuck. This situation was falling apart rapidly._

**_Crackle_ ** _“Agent Dinozzo! State your position.” It was Gibbs authoritative voice that rang over the coms this time. Tony swallowed hard. He had no idea where he was. He couldn’t see the house. Nor the path he’d run down. And all the trees and vines the encompassed the mini standoff, looked exactly the same. Not did Tony would have a way to tell the remainder of his team in this precarious position anyways._

_“Don’t shoot. I’m putting my gun down. I’m putting it down.” Tony placated, slowly lowering his service weapon to the gravely, sandy ground. . Silence momentarily reigned over the coms as he complied with their demands. Gibbs and McGee would just have to infer and they would have to infer quickly, because he was quickly losing the upper hand. His police training had told him to remain as still as possible. To make no sudden movements. To essentially comply. But most of that only made when there was backup nearby and Metro PD, while on scene, was not going to reach the duo very soon. Not with it turning very bloody and very messy. And the probability of that occurring was increasing exponentially as Tony swallowed nervously and the unwavering guns trained on him never left his face._

**_Crackle_ ** _“Dinozzo. We’re tracking your location.  A search team is coming-“_

_It’s Gibb’s again, calm and serious, having apparently realized the situation and doing everything in his power to rectify it. The mystery man’s voice, however, the one holding Bishop, vastly overpowered Gibbs electronic voice._

_“Com too. Put it down and step on it. Or I swear to God I’ll put a bullet through her head!” the man screamed. Ellie looked at him with wide, fearful eyes pleading with him to do something as the man pushed the barrel of his gun roughly against her temple. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to do? Follow their directions, his police training told him in the back of his head. Make sure you don’t get both Bishop and yourself killed. Gibbs staticky voice faded from his ear as Tony complied with the demands. Then disappeared completely with an electric shriek as the electronic device shattered under his boot, but the guns trained on him still did not waiver. He wondered if that had been enough time to get a distinct location. Were they on there way now? Then one of them pulled the trigger._

_Tony distantly heard Bishop scream in terror as a spike of white hot pain caught him in the chest and pitched him backwards. Dinozzo stumbled back a few steps, but wasn’t knocked completely off his feet until another spike of white hot pain pierced him in the abdomen. His head scraped the dirt and rocks and his chest screamed in dull agony as he tumbled towards the ground. His ears rang from the bullets being fired loudly in successive order and his lungs constricted as it tried to acclimate to the pain from such a close range. They shot him? Of course they shot him, they were the bad guys. Tony thought weakly. Breathe deeply. Do it now. Dinozzo instructed himself as he probed weakly for the wound. Thank God for bulletproof vests. The bullet hadn’t gone through. It was going to cause a big bruise the next morning._

_‘Get yourself together Dinozzo’ Tony berated himself. Bishop was still in trouble._

_As the ringing in his ears faded in and out so did the conversations occurring above him._

_“They only needed the woman. Who the fuck is that guy?” A Hispanic accented voice demanded._

_“He had to know that getting her alone was going to be impossible-“ the American’s protested. He saw another man forcing Bishop to the ground as he shoved a rag against her face. She struggled valiantly, but futilely, as whatever was on the rag began to take its effects. Chloroform… he realized darkly._

_Have each other’s backs, Gibbs previous statement rang dully throughout his head. Damn it. Why couldn’t he move? Get up. The blood rushing through his already ringing ears threatened to overpower everything as he screamed silently at his laden limbs. Help her! But the pain, while it was beginning to ebb away, was too much. The blow to the head wasn’t helping very much either. The world seemed to warp around him. The green trees spiraled and twisted into weird patterns and shapes. The ground beneath him felt like it was swimming. If he got up now, he would not be help to anybody._

_“Running out of time… He said....  ….doesn’t want any liabilities or suspicious deaths… cause to many questions…” The men’s words faded in and out as they argued over the duo. A sinister, but detached quality distinctly marked there words. Like they were discussing a business transaction. What the fuck did they get themselves into?. Gibbs would come. They were tracking the comms. They would come. They would get here in time. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw one of the men, heave the now unconscious Bishop over his shoulder. Like a sack of potatoes. Like she was barely human. Just product._

_“Let go of her!” Tony wheezed, but the conversing men ignored him. Where were they taking her? You were supposed to protect her, his mind screamed. Where the hell was the rest of the team? Tony closed his eyes and strained to listen for any signs of footsteps, of police sirens, of anything that signified that the cavalry was on it’s way, but only silence greeted him. Even the cicadas were quiet. Shit. Maybe if he could get to his gun…_

_“You know… He might know something too.”_

_A sudden immense pressure weighed onto his chest and Tony came face to face with the beady blue eyes of a captor. Hatred and disgust radiated from glare and were made obvious in his actions. Dinozzo suppressed a groan as he was flipped to his back and his arms were pulled painfully out of position. Zip ties were tugged tightly around his without discrimination.  He tried to shift his position and get a better view of what they’d done with Bishop, but the man on top of him shoved his face back into the dirt. Dinozzo coughed violently of soil, pebbles, and other debris flooded his mouth and nose._

_“You move a muscle,” the American accented man threatened. “I put a bullet through your head.”_

_A sickeningly sweet scent overwhelmed his senses as a rag was pressed up against his mouth. Don’t breathe it in. Don’t breathe it in. Tony repeated to himself, but eventually his body was forced to relent and almost immediately his vision grew fuzzy._

_Where were they? Tony thought as the world darkened. Gibbs had said a search team was coming, but where were they? They were supposed to have each other’s backs._

_Everything went dark._

_\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Location: Field Office in Washington Navy Yard_

_Present Day…_

Thwack* Thwack * Thwack*

 

Dark, wet pellets of rain pattered miserably against the Navy Yard’s office windows. Grey indifferent storm clouds had long blotted out the normally pristine, blue skies. Replacing the usual sunny weather with a dismal downpour of rain that showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. There was no thunder, no white streaks of electricity shooting across the sky, no giant bursts of wind gusting to and fro. Just steady, miserable rain falling relentlessly from the clouds above.  The darkness of the stormy skies cast a dark tint on the Navy Yard and the incandescent lighting of the office floor to appear ever more artificial and unnatural. Casting a depressive aura across the already dreary environment. And as the regular nine-to-five workers made their way into the offices, shaking out rain sprayed umbrellas and walking uncomfortably in water soaked shoes, the burgeoning storms only served to worsen Tim’s morale.

 

McGee had shoved all of the information he’d gathered from his hours of work onto a portable hard drive and had torn his way out of Sec Nav and it’s claustrophobic, stiffening enclosure. He left the other technicians, allowing them to deal with Keith, the queasy computer programmer, and the rest of the files the group had been collectively combing through. He knew that they’d understand his abrupt departure. Not just because the information concerned two of his close friends and teammates, although that almost certainly was a factor, but because of that unspoken connection computer programmers and analysts shared. The idea that even if the computer specialists loved their job, spending hours upon hours in front of a screen wasn’t good for anybody, and the dark, muted, claustrophobic feel of the room certainly wasn’t helping. Especially when Tim had been there all night. He needed time to think.

 

The brown-haired computer analyst collapsed tiredly at his desk, immediately turning from Bishop and Tony’s usual spots, as he buried his head in his hands.  Nothing was making sense.  The USB lay tauntingly on the table in front of him. The background checks, the psychological evaluations, the inconsistent time stamps. All of it presented Tim with more questions than answers, stretching an even murkier web over an already perplexing case. Then there was the footage. The goddamn fucking footage. There were forty-two photos and three videos in all. McGee had only seen two images. Two very high definition, very pixelated images that gave a horrific look into what his friends… his family had endured. And as the nausea swelled up within him it was all the agent was able to handle, however cowardly it may have been. He could not, would not look at anymore. Not until Gibbs arrived. Any minute now, but he couldn’t get those images, so neatly stamped with time signatures, out of his head.

 

The photographs remained starkly clear in his mind, like a show on a HD television providing a picture with so much more detail than was necessary. The first had been to be taken in the early stages of their capture. Tim knew this because of the distinct lack of injuries that he and Gibbs had seen when bringing his fellow agents back home in the helicopter. The lack of severe injuries did not make to photo any easier to see. The two figures had been kneeling on their knees into an inch thick layer of sandy ground wearing dusty burlap sacks over their heads, duck tape wrapped around the base of the neck to secure it. Despite the sacks, McGee knew the identities of the individuals were, Tony and Bishop. After years of working with them as a special agent, Tim had picked up things as an investigator and a coworker. He’d noticed, for example, how Bishop always leant forward slightly when she worked, whether she was standing, sitting, or cross-legged as if she needed glasses when she technically already had them. Or how Tony always went everywhere with his shoulders up and his head held high, something Tim noticed he hadn’t done since his capture, as he rambled on about Dinnozo Pride. Regardless, it was how they kneeled in the photo, same as always, as if ramifications of what had happened hadn’t fully hit them.

 

Their hands were tightly bound with handcuffs in front of them. So tight, McGee remembered, that blood had leaked from beneath the metal of Tony’s wrists. Behind them, there were three men in civilian clothing, Tim hadn’t gotten a close enough look at them, clutched pistols almost lazily in their hands. It was obvious there were more men in the room at that point because Tim could see the soles of feet and the starts of pants legs in the corners of the image. How on earth had they fit so many people in that ungodly room? The trio of men had grinned brazenly at the cameras. One aiming his pistol at Tony’s head, while another rested the barrel of his gun on Bishop’s shoulder. All wore pictures of glee on their faces. It made McGee want to scream, pull the men out the picture, and beat the men himself. Tim had no idea of the context of the situation, but if the rest of the photos progressed like this one had to the second picture then it was going to get exponentially worse.

 

It was the second image that had caused, weak-stomached Keith to run for the wastebasket, the other analysts to look away with disgust, and McGee to become nauseous as well. Despite all of the cases he’d been through and all of the bodies he’d seen, the gruesome, gut-wrenching nature of the image had felt surreal.  Tim couldn’t place when the picture was taken, but it had certainly been further ahead than the previous one. Tony had not been in it, at least not from what the computer specialist had seen in that cursory glance, neither were the soldiers form the previous photo, but Bishop was… and she had not been alone.

 

The former NSA analyst had apparently been forced to sit, legs slightly bent in front of her, in the infamous ‘stress position’. Forced to squat on the ball of her feet with her hands bound behind her. McGee knew from the research he’d done for his novels, that the position put an intense amount of pressure on the legs and that it was very, very painful.  Thick black headphones had covered Bishop ears, and a crudely torn wool-like gag was stuffed in her mouth, as she squatted in the uncomfortable position. _Sensory deprivation,_ Tim remembered _._ The deliberate removal of stimuli from one or more of the senses. A torture practice that could break even the hardest of men. While it was painful to see Ellie like that, it was not what caused the computer specialists to recoil; it was whom she was bound too. As she sat with her hands tied behind her back, there was someone else cuffed to her. A man… Or at least he might have been one at some point. Now the man was just a very mutilated, partially decayed, very dead body.  

           

The bloated corpse had been slumped partially over Bishop’s back and had quite obviously been dead for some time. The dead man’s skin had stretched and spread to an odd blackish green color with splashes of yellow thrown in as the extraneous gasses swelled up within him.  The tongue protruded hideously from his mouth and yellowish clear fluid oozed out from his nose and gaped upwards openly. One of the body’s eyes was dark, clotting red, the other had sunken from view. Maggots poured from the chest cavity and the settling blood and bodily fluids that seeped from multiple extremities soaked the floor and anyone who dared get close enough. McGee hadn’t seen a corpse in such bad shape in a long time and the computer workers had never been put in the field long enough to see a corpse. The sight alone of the decaying body was horrific, he couldn’t imagine would it would have been like to be there. And it was Bishop, who had been forced to endure kneeling against it, in one of the most uncomfortable positions one could be put into. 

 

The wounded look in Bishop’s eyes was enough to make McGee want to throw the USB across the room and flip a couple of tables while he was at it.  It was unfair how the universe seemed set against that one small team. The terrorist attacks, the bombings, the hostages. He supposed it was part of the job description, but all he wanted to do now was scream. McGee closed his eyes tightly blocking out the incandescent lights above him. How the hell was he supposed to look at the rest of those images, much less the videos? The clunk of two coffee mugs being placed on the desk interrupted his thoughts.

 

“What do you have, Tim?”

 

It was Gibbs, having noticed the dark circles under Tim’s eyes, who had given him a fresh cup of coffee. The other steaming cup apparently belonged to him. His voice had a calming comforting tone instead of sharp edge it held during normal circumstances, as if he acknowledged that Tim had been here all night working. McGee was just grateful that someone was here to help.

 

“Benét and Juarez sent us data. A lot of data…” McGee began hesitantly as he gathered his thoughts. Gibbs nodded, but didn’t say anything.

 

“The computer guys and I have been decrypting a lot of it… Based on the information we’ve uncovered so far, we think that Alakaso may not have been alone in his… in his actions. All his psychological reports are saying he’s a follower. A temperamental one, but still a follower. I think he was only a henchman. I think-” Tim rambled as he plugged the USB into the computer and the files appeared simultaneously on the screen in front of them.

 

“McGee. Slow down.” Gibbs ordered. Tim nodded frantically as he struggled to blink the sleep away from his eyes.

 

“It’s all there.” McGee gestured at the screen that was filled with Alakaso’s field reports, time stamps, and background checks. “It doesn’t add up. Palmer called up earlier. He said all of Jonathan’s injuries weren’t consistent with those of a car crash. Instead they were consistent with Bishop’s and Tony’s, but that’s impossible because Alakaso wasn’t there! It doesn’t add up. Something’s off.”

 

There was a long silence as the retired read over the data files himself. His eyes narrowed as he did, obviously not liking what he saw. At last he spoke up.

 

“You’re right. Something’s not right.” His boss affirmed. McGee’s stomach sank. Although he had come to that conclusion on his own several hours before, he’d been hoping it wasn’t true. The computer analyst had hoped they had ended this entire ordeal with a bullet in the head of Alakaso. Apparently, that was not the case.

 

“Boss… There was footage too. Forty two pictures and some videos. ” McGee said quietly and pulled up the multi media files. Gibbs jaw clenched visibly as the plethora of images came up onto the screen, all to aware of the gruesome nature of events that these photos were about to reveal. The grey haired marine looked over at his younger agent and the dark circles under his eyes.

 

“You don’t have to look at these right now, Tim. You can go get some rest. You need it.” Gibbs said.

 

“No. Just… I… Just no.” Tim said shaking his head vehemently.  He needed to do this. He needed to get this over with. Gibbs nodded silently and scrolled to the list of the videos, clicking the very first on the list.

 

The recording was short – only a couple of minutes long – and appeared to be some type of security tape footage, but started in media res and was packed with enough brutality to make the computer specialist wince and the retired marine to seethe in anger. The clip began with a bunch of men yelling slurs at the bound and gagged duo; Alakaso’s voice overpowered them all, as he took front in center.

 

“Stand up!” the torturer demanded over the raucous shouting of the other shoulders. “Didn’t I tell you pieces of shit to stand up?” Bishop was trembling like a leaf and Tony shoulders still set, looked beaten and tired beside her. Their hands were bound behind their back, rendering them defenseless. Gibbs and McGee watched apprehensively as the agents on the screen, encumbered by their restraints, struggled to their feet. Then, as his agents were struggling to straighten up, Alakaso drove steel-toed boot into Tony’s abdomen causing the brown hair agent to collapse to the floor. His pained gasps could be heard terribly loudly through the computer screen. Alakaso forcefully grabbed Bishop by the scruff of her plaid shirt, the one she’d been wearing when they’d gone missing, temporarily blocking her from view the camera. The thud could be heard, however, as he abruptly shoved her to the ground. The soldiers watching roared in laughter behind him.

 

“Did I say you could stand up? Don’t do anything unless I tell you too!” Alakaso yelled with his heavy accent. The confusion was visible on both their faces, but only Tony had the guts to say something about it.

 

“You just said to stand-“ Tony protested, but was quickly cut off by a sharp kick to his his jaw. Blood sprayed from Dinozzo’s mouth and the roar of laughter from the soldiers around him overpowered the tiny groan the miserably let out. Bishop leant forward instinctively to check him, but Alakaso’s stopped her in her tracks.

 

“Don’t you dare touch him.” The torturer snarled. A beat of silence passed.

 

“HEY! Didn’t I tell you pieces of shit to stand up? Stand up!” Alakaso yelled at the moaning individuals on the floor. Suddenly Gibbs realized what was going on. In the very early stages, Alakaso was trying to disorient them, confuse them, and asset this domination over them. The process went on for several more cycles, each time his agents got more and more roughed up.

 

“Stand up.” Alakaso said evenly and coldly, the smattering of soldiers had begun to move away as they lost interest. The bloodied agents stumbled to their feet, it took longer this time, longer than all the others. A lot longer, but his heart swelled with disheartened pride as his bloodied agents staggered to their feet. Alakaso snapped his fingers at the soldiers behind them, who subsequently moved closer.

 

“Good, boy and girl. Now I’m going to ask you one more time…” Alakaso said moving uncomfortably closer to his two agents. “What are the passwords to code file Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3?”

 

Both of his agents remained silent, but the retired marine didn’t miss the way Bishop’s eyes averted towards the floor. Or the way Tony’s jaw clenched in determination. Alakaso whistled and the soldiers who had laughed cruelly throughout the entire video approached.

 

“Stop the video.” Gibbs said at last.

 

“There’s still three minutes left.” McGee replied. The strain was palpable in his voice.

 

“I said stop the video.” Gibbs turned away, massaging his temple as he forced himself to calm down. This video was the first of many and had barely scratched the surface of what had occurred in the month his agents had been taken away from them, but it gave them a starting point. What the hell was Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3? He had certainly never heard anything of the sort in relation to NCIS, but the supervisory special agent could tell form the reactions in the video that Bishop, if not Tony had at least some background knowledge on the matter.

 

“Boss?” his computer analyst questioned warily.

 

“Get some sleep Tim.” Gibbs ordered at last..

 

“But there’s still-“ McGee began to protest.

 

“Get some of the other NCIS agents to sift through the rest of the information, but you need to get some sleep. You’re not going to be any good dead on your feet.” Gibbs shut him down quickly as he grabbed the remaining coffee mug and began to move away.

 

“Boss! Where are you going?”

 

“The NSA. Someone is going goddamn tell me what Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3 is.”

 

The dark, wet pellets of rain continued to fall miserably against the Navy Yard’s office windows. Grey and foreboding and now that he thought about it, completely indicative of what was to come.

 

Thwack* Thwack * Thwack*

_Location Ivona Fairfax Hospital._

_Present Day_

 

_Heavy boots slapped the sandy, rocky earth as they darted around outside the cell. Dry cracks, pops, and rat-tat-tats of gunfire filled the air, mixing with the shouts of men, the screams, and the explosions of flash grenades. The gear dug into him, weighed him down, made him slow. Too slow. The hot, dry air sucked the breath right from his lungs as it baked his mouth. Agony exploded in his side, white hot and consuming. He screamed Bishop_ _’_ _s name as he hit the ground. Get off of her! Get off of her. His blood-stained hands clawed at the ground, dragging him to something to help him stand despite the inferno in his side and fight to protect his seizing partner, but the grip tightened in response. Refusing to loosen its grasp. Refusing to let him breathe._

Tony’s teeth snapped together as he choked down the memories, beat them back with a stick. He didn’t want to see them again or relive that Hell. He was safe. He was back and he was safe. And Bishop was too. Dinozzo drew in a deep breathe, this time it was free of the reek of gunpowder, spilled gasoline, blood, and dust. Replaced instead, with the clean, antiseptic smell of the hospital. Safe.And yet, as much as Tony tried to convince himself of this, deep in the back of his mind he almost questioned if it was all real, or if it was just too good to be true. No, Tony told himself. He knew it was real. But after all he’d been through. After all they’d been through, Tony could still felt that fear dwelling deep down in his stomach. He could still felt that uncertainty, like someone was going to run in this room and take everything away from him. He still felt that unsettling, almost crippling feeling, like he was completely and utterly alone.

 

 _“Anthony? Did you hear me Anthony?”_ Doctor Stedman’s voice infiltrated his thoughts. Keller, his replacement, sat in the visitor’s seat next to the cot. Both men scrutinized the brown haired agents scrutinized him like a zoo animal, as they waited for him to respond. If they had noticed the dark circles under his eyes, they hadn’t mentioned it.  Dinozzo hadn’t seen a mirror, but he was exhausted and he knew his battered form would reflect that. At first, he would try to get some shut eye, but the godforsaken monster would ease his was sinisterly into his dreams. Eventually, he’d given up completely. A twinge of guilt tried to worm its way into his stomach, every time he told the doctor he felt better. But he would push the thought away because in his mind feeling better could mean a lot of things. Moving his toes without excruciating pain coursing through his body was better. Sitting up with out the heart monitors going off erratically was better. So lack of sleep was only a trivial thing in the back of his mind.

 

Tony’s tired mind had eventually found a way to justify staying awake until the early morning hours. No sleep was good, his tortured mind told himself. Because sleeping meant vulnerability and he could not have that. There was no room for silly mistakes, no time to time to let his guard down, no respawns, no extra lives.In the cell one of them always had to stay awake because staying awake meant staying alive. Because if Alakaso and his men had been so neat, so impeccably organized, and so prepared the first time, there was no reason to doubt that he could easily do something again. So it made perfect sense in Tony’s strung out, tired mind.

 

“Uh… I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?” Tony asked slowly. Determined not to hear his voice stutter again. Determined not to hear how weak he sounded. A whiff of desert mixed blood invaded his senses, but when he drew in another the smell was gone. Stay calm, he told himself. They both cast him looks of pity anyway.

 

‘Your red blood cell is back up and your fever has gone down. It means we can get started on some therapy and get some range of motion back into your leg.” Dr. Stedman repeated with a grim smile. “That’s good news, Tony.” The man told him, when he didn’t visibly respond. Tony gave a jerky nod, when it became evident that they weren’t going anywhere with out a proper response.

 

“Your friend’s blood count has gone up as well. She’s lost a lot of muscle mass, but you both have. It’s to be expected. They moved her out of ICU earlier this week,” the doctor continued, figuring that some good news about Bishop would get him to cooperate more fully. He was correct. Tony visibly perked up at the mention of Bishop’s condition, but the brown haired agent inwardly scowled at how blasé the doctor was when discussing her. “You’ll both be involved in therapy, but if you want to see her, we see no reason as too bring-”

 

“I want to see her now.” Tony interrupted, sitting more upright, ignoring the painful shift in his movements, as he tried to put some authority into his voice. It had been too long. He didn’t understand how the doctors could keep them away from his each other after they’d been through all that hell together. It was another form of torture in itself. Dinozzo needed to see that she was okay for himself. Not have the doctor or Gibbs or Abby or the rest of them for himself. He had to see for himself. Keller looks at the doctor, who shrugged, and told one of the nurses to bring him a wheelchair. It was a cumbersome process as the men disconnected the machines, fixed his IV drip, and helped lower him into the wheel chair. Tony fiddled anxiously. They were wasting time. He fidgeted inconsolably as they wheeled him down the hallways and stopped by the window outside her hospital room. Bishop… Tony pressed his hand up against the cool glass.

 

She looked pale and sickly under the single illuminated fluorescent light, the rest had been turned off to protect her eyes, but the brown haired agent could see the yellow bruises that were partially obscured by the bandages wrapped around her head. Her broken arm was incased in dark blue plaster and laid clumsily against the side of her cot, but the track marks were still slightly visible on her inner elbow just above the crook of her arm. Scarred, distorted and bumpy blackish flesh marred several areas along her shoulders and neck and disappeared under her hospital gown. Two separate IV drips fed fluids and nutrients into her body. She looked so small…The former analyst laid with her back to wall facing toward the entrance, though she wasn’t look in that direction now, as she dragged her fingers lightly across the bumpy, marred burns.

 

He had failed, Tony realized and tidal wave of guilt hit him painfully. He was supposed to protect her. He was supposed to have her back. He had tried damn hard, but it obviously hadn’t been enough.

As Joseph wheeled him into the room, Bishop visibly tensed and her gray orbs flicked up to settle on the his blue ones – rapidly deciding whether he was friend or foe. Nervous, fearful, but unwavering. Familiar eyes. Ones that helped sweep the cobwebs from his memories, stowed away for so long. Ones that lifted the heavy burdens that had weighed down upon him for so long.  Ones that gave him, despite the pain that coursed through them, hope. Tony didn’t dare move closer, partially because he wanted to give her time to acclimate, partially because he didn’t know what to say, but Keller pushed him forward anyways. Until his wheelchair was right up against the hospital cot. Almost painfully close.

“I’ll give you… I’ll give you some time alone.” Keller said. Tony didn’t even look up as the man left the room. He trained his eyes on her, on her tear stained face, wanting her to say something, anything, to break the tension. Then recognition poured over her features and her dry, cracked lips parted.

“Tony?” Her voice was a rasp, a mere ghost of its former self. His eyes watered as he nodded frantically. The former NSA analyst smiles at him, but what should have been a happy gesture was infested with sorrow and heartbreak and pain and disbelief. But Tony can’t believe it himself either.

“Hey probie.” Dinozzo rasped, his voice muddled with tears that further encumbered by the soreness of his throat. But he was to exuberant to care as relief swept over him.  Relief that she was alive, that they were still alive.

It was enough to open the flood gates and soon they were both crying. Not tears of pain. Not harsh sobs of anger. Not hiccupping sniffles of grief. Just silent tears of relief as they both released their cooped up vulnerabilities to each in the privacy of the hospital room, where they did not have to appear strong or face the looks of pity from anyone else.  He leans forward resting his upper body against the guardrail of the hospital and rests his hand on her quivering arm, trying to bring comfort into both of them. It’s the closest thing to a hug, any of them could manage. She stiffens under his touch as first, but then relaxes as she seemingly reminded herself where she was. The minutes tick by and they don’t say anything further, jut content to see that they’re both alive. The doctor doesn’t dare come back inside anyways, not daring to interrupt the tearful reunion.

“He’s dead. Tony.” Bishop recounted in a tear muddled voice and Tony knows she’s talking about Jake. Her husband, who she’d been convinced, had been left alone from all the horrors they’d faced.

“I-I know El. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” He mumbled miserably. How things had fallen apart over the last few months. How could they ever get back to normal from this? The blonde haired probationary agent, unsteadily takes a deep breathe, looking as if she wanted to say something else, but they were interrupted. The duo flinched and hastily wiped their tears away as the door craked open slowly behind them. It was Doctor Stedman.

“No.” Tony shook his head vehemently. “No. I want to stay longer. I want to stay.”

He doesn’t care if he sounds petulant, like an angry child, but he doesn’t want to back to that jail cell of a hospital room to be alone again. Alone with his thoughts, but the doctor shakes his head.

“I’m sorry Anthony, but this visitor takes precedent. He’s a federal agent.”

“I’m a federal agent!” Tony wanted to protest, but something stopped him. Was he really an agent anymore? No one had referred to him as one since his rescue. Gibbs had already replaced him with Keller on the team. He no longer had his badge, his service weapon, or the authority that usually came with the name.  So was he really? It was a question, he didn’t want answered. There was another knock at the door. Harsher and louder than Dr. Stedman’s. Without waiting for a response, the person on the other side of the door let themselves in.

The black briefcase. The weathered skin. The trench coat. Jeremy Marlens. The man from the NSA, who wouldn’t leave him alone. Tony’s face twisted into a scowl, but Bishop looked at her former supervisor in obvious confusion.

“Boss?”

**Enjoyed it? Read and Review?**

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

_Location: Walter Reed NMMC, Recovery Ward_

 

 

_He’s dead. Jake’s dead and you killed him. You were too fucking cowardly to say anything and you were stupid enough to not believe him when he said what he was going to do. Now he’s dead. You killed him. And now he’s dead_

 

“How are you doing Ellie?”

 

Bishop gnawed on the inside of her cheek nervously, already rubbed raw from all the other times. She could still taste the faint traces of copper. No one ever called her Ellie anymore. Only Jake… sometimes Gibbs, now Tony. Not Marlens. Never Marlens. Not even when she actually worked underneath him. So when he said it now, with his carefully concerned smile and measured tone, it sounded a lot like pity. Syrupy pity that she probably didn’t deserve. The pool of grief circled in her stomach as the blonde agent fidgeted nervously under her former boss’s gaze. But Marlens refused to relax his penetrating stare and maintained his stoic demeanor as he waited for an answer. The blonde shifted uneasily, avoiding eye contact with him while she picked agitatedly at the stray threads on the blanket.

 

“I’m doing fine.” She murmured hoarsely, reflexively folding into herself.  That was, of course, far from the truth. Each tear-muddled word was said with exaggerated effort. Sitting upright had been a challenge; her ribs still flamed with pain, no matter how much morphine was given. Raw, like someone had ripped out her insides. She kept her injured cast wrapped arm around draped loosely around, but per usual it did nothing to alleviate the pain. There was a stagnant pause as Bishop adverted her eyes towards from his penetrating green-eyed stare. His face was blurred slightly, a consequence of her absentee contacts. Yet the intimidating gaze etched its way into her skull.  It took every fiber of her being not to whimper in pain as her former superior scrutinized her, looking for any excuse to negate her statement. It reminded her of Gibbs, but not in the fatherly way. Bishop felt like a kid in front of a judgmental parent in front of the man. His tall lanky stature loomed unnervingly over hers, even though the chair laid uninhabited right next to him. _Why was he still standing?_

 

“You don’t look fine.” Marlens chastised lightly with the disconcerting syrupy sweet voice, like she would break at any moment. So sweet though. So sickly sweet. Bishop winced as the metal chair screeched against the hospital floor. The sharp noise grated throughout her skull as her former boss finally sat down. It was just the two of them. Tony was gone now. Forced out by _Doctor_ Stedman and Marlens under the pretense of physiotherapy and rest. Bishop would have protested, but she had been so off guard by Marlens’s presence and so timid. Every movement made her flinch. Every touch made her want to recoil in disgust. Every set of eyes seemed to belong to someone who wanted to cause her harm. She’d sworn she seen Alakaso’s face. She saw it everywhere now. On the doctors, on the patients, on Tony when he’d first been wheeled in. It would have been useless anyways. They were in no shape to be arguing, but Tony had argued with them so vehemently that she wondered if she was missing something. As far as she remembered, they’d never even met. Only once on the Parsa case. A long, long time ago.

 

Bishop gave a noncommittal shrug, preferring to keep her attention on the morphine drip slowly feeding her pain medication. She wasn’t stupid. She knew why Marlens was actually here and it wasn’t just for pleasantries. The NSA was checking up on their assets. They were just trying to determine if she had released any information. Only trying to determine if they were liabilities. They didn’t actually care. Her eyes watered as she stared at the scattered burns, bruises, and pinpricks that swathed her frail skin. _His grimy hands grabbed roughly at her, going places where they didn’t belong. Places where they shouldn’t belong. Another’s grip on held tightly to her arm, forcing her to extend it as he probed for a vein. She tried to squirm out of their grasp, but they held strong. The needle pierced her skin._ She rapidly blinked the tears away. She remembered every single mark. Every single one. And now she didn’t have Jake to help her deal with it, not like the other times. The blonde analyst forced a steady, calming breath. She felt the steady thump of heat slow down, but the pool of grief continued to bear down on her.

 

In front of her, Marlens relaxed forward into the chair, trying to portray a semblance of being unperturbed, but it came over as awkward… with the trench coat and all.

 

“You know why I’m here, Bishop.” Marlens inquired. She could feel his piercing stare even when she was no longer looking directly at him. It wasn’t even a question really. They both know she already knew the answer.

 

“I didn’t say anything…” she murmured softly and the thread from the hospital bed continued to fray under her touch. She wheezed softly in pain as the bandages rubbed gratingly against the raw wounds on her back. Marlens gave something akin to a chuckle or a smirk or a something, but she could tall almost immediately that he didn’t believe her. Her former boss leant over and flicked on the light switch that had been keeping the room dimmed. A buzz of electricity interrupted her thoughts and the lights flickered on, reflecting glaringly off the surfaces of the very, very white walls. It. Was. Blinding.

 

Bishop blinked several times, hoping to acclimate herself to the walls, but instead her vision only worsened. The world all of a sudden seemed flipped inversely on itself, sweeping a wave of nausea over her unsuspecting mind. Marlens didn’t seem to notice as he reached for his familiar black briefcase. Bishop grasped blindly for the back shades she was supposed to have been wearing, but even when she put them on the nausea still remained.

 

“I didn’t.” she insisted, but he merely shook his head. He didn’t believe her. Why didn’t he believe her? Marlens had fished out a thick beige folder, emblazed with the administrative seal of the National Security Agency.

 

“That’s what Mr. Dinozzo said, but I’m more inclined to believe him. When you were with me in the NSA, you worked primarily on finding and pinpointing strategies and patterns within Middle Eastern terrorist rings.” Marlens made a big show of flipping through the file. Bishop looked past him and out the door. Keller was gone. So was the other agent.

 

“When you first went missing, the intelligence unit went through all your past cases, in order to determine risk factor. The large majority of them were related to the Benim Parsa case, the others were largely situated in the Middle East as well. So the question is how did NSA’s Parsa expert and an NCIS agent end up in Colombia?” Marlens sneered and his voice took a sinister tone.

 

Bishop faltered, not sure how to answer his question. Everything she was thinking seemed to flow into the one spot in her head and she could never get anything out. It had been happening a lot lately. Colombia… They had been in Colombia all this time? Marlens didn’t even give her time to answer.

 

“I did some digging. There are no known ties to any of the Parsa affiliated groups in Cuba. None. But there are connections to your other cases.”

 

Bishop gave him a jerky, perplexed nod. The confusion increased, suddenly she felt uncomfortable. Marlens already knew all of this. They’d worked together for years before she left for NCIS.  He was just restating the facts... to get a baseline. He was treating it like an interrogation. Bishop had sat in with Marlens several times before. How did it go? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t think straight right now. Why couldn’t she think?

 

“ I-“ Bishop was interrupted.

 

“The man- Alakaso- who held the both of you captive was a trained professional. He was known within the Columbia military for his extraction of information. Four letters of misconduct. Belligerent temper. Out of the hundred or so captors, a eighty nine percent success rate. Those who didn’t get the information where either dead or on their way. According to the files, Alakaso was a goddamn psycho, no regard for human life.” Marlens relayed the information almost nonchalantly as he flipped through the yellow papers.

 

Bishop shifted nervously. The EKG machine behind her begun to make itself known, the beeps increasing with the pace of her heart, but both persons ignored it. A sharp ripple of pain crept up her injured body and the agent winced as the twinge radiated to other less sore areas. Despite being numbed slightly by the morphine, was not enough to prevent her injuries from hurting. Marlens disregarded it, having finally found what he was looking for. Pictures. Pictures of what exactly? She didn’t want to know. Bishop’s sweaty palms began to shake, as Marlens’s voice and accusatory tone grew louder. _Please stop yelling._ She wanted to whisper, but her voice was caught in her throat, unable to produce a single sound.

 

“They finally sent us the files you know. Knives, needles, matches. Alakaso had the whole shebang.”  Marlens murmured leaning closer to the hospital bed. He tossed one of the file photos on the bed in front of her.  She flinched violently away from the all to familiar face on the image. _Fuck. Alakaso. His beady, cruel eyes. His scarred skin. His sneer._ Tears spring to her eyes as memories began to fight their way to the surface as Marlens continued to lay photos of her assailants in front of her. _The needles. The whip. The body._ _Back in Alakaso’s grasp_. Why was he doing this? She could feel the fire begin to bubble her skin, the needles stabbing into her arms, and the hands leaving unwanted marks across her skin. The pain. The hands. The memories tried to creep in, worming her way under her flesh, as she grew more agitated.Her fingertips were tingling, and she needed it to  _stop_. She dug her cracked nails into the palm of her hand. It hurt and tears fall from her eyes, but the throbbing was so much better than the accusations that her former boss is obviously building up to. _No. NO!_ Stop saying his name she wanted to shout. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. The blanket was wrenched in her hand. The scratchy hospital cotton was once a comfort, having had nothing else over a month, but now it felt cold and scratchy. Not nearly as reassuring as before.

 

 “So my question is how did both of you survive? You aren’t a field agent Bishop, you never were. Your job was behind a computer. An analyst. And nothing else. There really isn’t a reason he would have kept the both of you alive… Especially Mr. Dinozzo… Unless you were feeding them information.”

 

Bishop shook her head vehemently like a petulant child. “I-I didn’t s-say anything, I swear I didn’t!” the stutter returned as she shook her head vehemently and stumbled over her sentences. _She didn’t. She didn’t say anything._ Why didn’t he believe her?

 

“AGENT Bishop.” Marlens speaks over her. “This a matter of national security. There are potential lives at stake. You had to have said something. Do you know many people have died? Do you know you much blood is on your hands? Two police officers are dead. Three more agents with families. Your own husband-“

 

He’s in her face now. Leaning in so close, that she could practically feel the spittle against her face. She would have backed up, but she’s shaking too hard and the pain is back and everything is rushing to her brain at once. Making it really hard to concentrate as he relentlessly throws everything he’s got at her. He’s got her cornered, clearly displaying whose got the upper hand. Somewhere in the vestiges of her memory, Bishop remembered when she used to admire that tenacity. His willingness and efficacy when it came to getting jobs done. As one of Marlens’s _favorites_ , she had been able to sit in on many of the older man’s interrogations and back then she’d watched in awe as he reduced coldhearted killers to tears. Now, it was apparently her turn.

 

Bishop has stopped listening. The blanket has fallen from her hand as she futilely covers her ears to block out his voice. _There are voices in her head, whispering ‘_ _There’s something we need to tell you about Jake.’ We’ll go through the contacts_ … _’ I’ll kill them all.”._ _There are needles. There’s blood. There’s pain. It’s all so vivid. She can see Jakes angelic, crooked smile. She feels the wall threaten to give way as Alakaso throws her against it. She feels the warm metal of the bar he swings at her. She sees the ground rushing towards her, feels the impact in her palms. There’s white hot pain, and she hears bone shatter. She hears her own scream._ _She hears his whispers._ Her eyes snap open, tears flowing full force now. She hadn’t realized that she’d shut them.  

 

“S-stop! STOP! It’s not my fault! I didn’t kill them. I didn’t k-kill them. I didn’t. I didn’t.”. She cut her protests off abruptly; caught in her own world. That world she had become used too. The one where she’s supposed to be quiet. She isn’t supposed to be saying anything. Shut it down she ordered herself. Shut it down. The words are easy to keep in, but they make her mind feel more frenzied and erratic. The images are coming and going. She can’t focus on the one thing, not with her heartbeat thumping so loudly in her ear, not when she can’t stop the shaking. Marlens paused, mouth agape, studying the trembling agent in front of him, wondering if he might have gone to far. Then the older man, seemingly in deep thought, pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and let out a deep sigh. His hand snaked behind the hospital bed to the series of machines that connected to the tubes. He quietly and succinctly ups the dosage of the morphine drip. The droplets began to fall at a much faster rate.

 

“Look Ellie… I know you didn’t kill them or didn’t mean too, but you have to think about how this is going to look to Mathyk. He thinks you’re a liability now, a lot of them do. You were very significant within the organization.”

 

Bishop’s gut twisted further, giving into another wave of anxiety as she bit the inside of her cheek. The head of the international division too? Mathyk’s suspicion unleashed another barrel of insecurities. Why would of anyone believe her. Why? Even when she was telling the truth people were going to crucify her at stake. The anxiety threatened to bubble to the surface and she tried in vain to force it down. _Conceal it. Conceal it. Don’t let him see._ Bishop repeated the mantra over and over in her mind. Inwardly, the blonde agent began to compartmentalize herself, dulling both her mind and the injuries. _You’re weak. You’re weak and you know it, but don’t let him see_. Bishop stared hollowly ahead and flinched as Marlens slowly peeled her cracked nails away from their grips. The white gauze wrapped around her hands had begun to stain with droplets of red, and she muttered an apology even as the urge to press harder overwhelms her. The duo sat in silence for a moment as he waited for her to calm down.

 

“They wanted to know about Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3 didn’t they?” Marlens asked quietly. Against her own self-restraint, Bishop found herself nodding.

 

“I need you to give me the codes.” Marlens hastily continued on when he realized that Bishop was going to refuse. “Look I know you want to stay quiet. I know you were told to stay quiet, but giving the NSA your section of the codes will be the only way to validate that you are telling the truth.”

 

 Bishop didn’t respond only continued to stare at the wall forlornly, not even bothering the wipe the tears streaming down her face. It felt like the room had dropped a couple of degrees in temperature, causing goose bumps to rapidly rise among the scars and bruises that marked her skin. She felt a vague heaviness fall over his mind, followed by a wave of deliriousness. Blinking her eyes he tried to clear the fuzziness that settled on the edge of her vision and attempted to lift her arm to wipe it away. _No. No. Don’t say anything. Don’t give up anything._

 

“The codes, Ellie.” Marlens reminded her. “The NSA is on your side. I know you think it’s hard, but you have a job to do. Think about the government in which you were assigned to support. Think about people in whom you vowed to protect. Think about Tony. You say he wasn’t part of all of this, and I think so too, but others may not be so inclined to agree. I don’t have the authority to protect him and if the NSA needs a scapegoat, you’re going to be too valuable to be one. I’m sure Agent Gibbs doesn’t want his best agent being classified as a homegrown terrorist, especially when he had nothing to do with it.”

 

The emblematic knife twisted deeply in her gut, the guilt sprang up like a tidal wave, sequestering all the other emotions, even the pain. She had never told him anything about the project. She wasn’t sure if he knew she knew anything about it, much less how involved she was in it. Tony was smart; he’d probably figured it out by now.  Knowing that every blow he received was directly her fault, made everything exponentially worse. Especially when they made her watch. _Let him go, Bishop screamed. But they were holding her back and Alakaso wasn’t listening as he drove his fist, punch after punch, into Tony’s face. Let him go! Crimson poured from the semi conscious man’s nose, spilling in rivulets onto the dusty floor beneath them. Soaking the ground with its stench. Thawck Thawck. Alakaso kept on going._ Now he couldn’t even walk. Why was she always ruining things? She had hurt Tony enough; she couldn’t let him get hurt anymore.

 

“Tony wasn’t- He wasn’t part of it. You can’t let them punish him for something that wasn’t his fault…” Bishop’s small, pitiful tear-muddled voice squeaked out. It sounded echoic in her own mind, like she was listening from underwater. “It wasn’t even a weapon…”

 

“Then prove it to us. Give me the codes and I will clear your name and make sure Tony stays out of it. Unfortunately, under these current circumstances, you’re making it very difficult.”

 

“It w-wasn’t even a weapon. Y-you’d think they’d want bombs or s-something. Not a f-fucking… -not a fucking… not a…” Bishop warbled on pitifully, the increased morphine making its full effect, rendering her unable to complete her thoughts. Completely ignoring Marlens words as her frazzled mind veered her rapidly off track and she began to ramble. “They kept hitting him. I-I told them to stop, but they wouldn’t stop… They…”

 

“You did the right thing Bishop. You have to take the job seriously. Your job needs to become before everything. Even before Tony.” Marlens interrupted, checking the morphine drip out of the corner of his eye.

 

“T-there was so much blood. So m-much red.” Bishop’s haunted eyes watered as she remembered the scene. Tony’s blood, disappearing in droplets into the sand on the ground, after he’d been beaten unconscious. Her own blood. Hot blood, blood that should have been inside her but wasn’t. Not after the bar. Then _his_ blood. His cold, vile blood that seeped out and stained her legs, after _he’d_ been given a merciful death he didn’t deserve.  Marlens smiled slightly as he watched a violent tremor take hold and listened to her words begin to slur slightly together. He had to get her back on topic.

 

“The codes, Bishop.” Marlens pushed.

 

“The… the codes? … It wouldn’t even m-matter. The rest of them are… they’re…uh…” Bishop struggled to say the word ‘dead’ between hiccupping snivels.  It had been easier before all of this had happened. She had seen dead bodies every day. Now it felt like pulling teeth. “They’re gone. It was a four-code cipher key. It would need all four codes to access it.  That’s w-what I told him. I told h-him that and he wouldn’t believe me, but I told him.”

 

“The NSA has the rest of the codes. We managed to salvage some of them. Backdoor digital traps and all that.” Something about his words was intentionally vague, but she was too exhausted to play investigator. Everything felt heavy and the darkness intruded further on her thoughts, making it difficult to navigate her murky mind. _Marlens could be trusted_ , she told herself. He may be an ass, but he was just doing his job. He wasn’t Alakaso. Marlens had always protected her in the past; he was just protecting her now.

 

“Tell me the codes and I’ll handle it.” Marlens pushed. Bishop looked at him mournfully with a distant glaze over her eyes. She tearfully nodded as he fished out a pen and a pad of paper.

 

“Keep in mind, this case is completely confidential. No one can know about this conversation. It needs to become before Gibbs, before NCIS, before Tony.”

 

Bishop shakily gripped her fingers with her less injured hand and unsteadily began scratching the graphite numbers on the pad.

 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------

 

_Location: Walter Reed NMMC, Physiotherapist location._

 

It felt like a dungeon to him. No amount of natural light or pastel blue wallpaper or bright red exercise balls or even the 90s O-Town ballad playing softly in the background, could make him feel any different. The physiotherapist’s room looked deceivingly upbeat and happy. The television that hung in the corner, the brightly colored, deliberately placed physiologist equipment laid just about everywhere lese, and the clean, wall-sized window opened up the skyline wanted him desperately to believe that. As if he hadn’t been forcibly wheeled through hallway upon hallway of white, antiseptic smelling walls. Past all the dismal patients. The sullen kids with broken arms. The elderly man inching along with his IV drip. The unconscious man being wheeled to some surgery, with his wife, or sister, or whoever she was, following anxiously behind. As if he hadn’t been forcibly wheeled passed all that misery. They took him away from his sole companion for the last month and a half and stuck him in another room with another doctor who only wanted to poke and prod.  

 

“From what I can see from Dr. Stedman’s patient files, you have serious tears along the abductor longus, rectus femoris, and satorius groups of your right quadriceps. Very deep tears actually.” A lanky, red haired man, Doctor Parkinson, detached one of the several MRI scans displayed on the blue fluorescent screen and readjusted his thick rimmed glasses as he scrutinized the document more closely. “I’m not going to lie to you.  This is a pretty serious injury. The quadriceps are crucial in walking, running, jumping and squatting and you’ve seemed to rip your way through half of them, but that’s probably the least of your problems.”

 

Tony ignored him. His focus was on the bustling metropolitan scene just outside the window. His brown troubled eyes watched blankly as the red, blue, and white vehicles darted down the street, hurrying along to their destinations, and disappeared onto the interstate that would eventually bring the back to the city. A Honda civic. A Mac truck. A sedan. The local city bus. He pressed his hand against the glass, welcoming the cool comforting touch, allowing him to momentarily forget the trials and tribulations that had been forced upon him. It occurred to Tony this was the first real sign of city life he’d seen outside of the hospital. The abandoned parking lot he’d seen from his hospital bed hadn’t provided any semblance for him. Tony wanted to feel happy as he saw the people carry on blissfully in their carefree lives. He really, really wanted too. But he couldn’t muster up any happiness to the surface past the scars and the bruises that weighed him down. Nothing. Only a heavy wistfulness from deep within, anchoring him down to the wheelchair like a wet blanket.

 

“Must have been a pretty bad car wreck, you could have lost it Huh, Anthony?”

 

Tony flinched at the sudden proximity of the doctor’s voice, not having heard him approach. Doctor Parkinson’s long, angular hands pulled the brown agent away from the wheelchair and towards the examination table. Tony flinched away anyway, when the comforting coolness was replaced with the harsh reality.

 

Not all of the hospital personnel, including Doctor Parkinson, knew the exact specifics of why he and Bishop were in the hospital; most didn’t even know they were agents. For all they knew the two agents were police officers, injured in a squad car accident after a car chase gone wrong. Apparently, the fact they’d been kidn-… taken was on a need to know basis. According to both the NCIS and the NSA, they were security risks. Apparently they were worried that the terrorist organization, that all of the agents refused to name specifically, would feel the need to retaliate. On them or the hospital, Tony didn’t know, but what he did know is that was tired of it. Keller had made and half-hearted effort to justify the secrecy, stating that their disappearance had caused a media frenzy and NCIS felt it was in their best interest to prolong the news of the rescue of their reappearance in order to give them time to recover. _Because in this occupation they all knew how rabid the media hounds could be,_ he’d awkwardly joked. The brown haired agent hadn’t laughed. He hadn’t seen the point. So Tony had agreed robotically, when they instructed him not to say anything. Of course it resulted in well meaning assholes like this, who said things without thinking, and completely misinterpreted the situation. Anger simmered below the surface. It wasn’t fair to get angry with the doctor, the rational side of Tony said, but the anger, pain, and despair sequestered it. He just wanted it all to end. He wanted to see Bishop again and get her the fuck away from that Agent Marlens. He wanted her to be okay. For him to be okay. For everything to go back to the way it was before.

 

“Today we’re just going to start slow and work on getting some mobility back into your leg, but I’m going to have to lift you up the table first. Now I’m a strong guy, but you’re going to have to help. Is that okay with you, Tony? Can I call you that? Tony?” Dr. Parkinson drummed his fingers patiently against the side of the table as he waited for an answer. Tony clenched his fists tightly against the arms of his wheelchair, silently wheeling for the man above him to go away. Although it was highly likely that that wouldn’t happen. He felt like he hadn’t slept in days. The only thing allowing him a few blessed hours of sleep was the morphine and the physicians were already weaning him off of that. He knew he didn’t look to good, life threatening injuries aside. Lack of sleep was evident with prominent darkened circles under Tony’s bloodshot eyes. This coupled with the various shades of healing bruises smattered across his face, highlighted his haggard, fatigued appearance. He really tried to stay strong. He did. But the haunted, almost tortured look, coupled with a good amount pain, that had etched itself onto his malnourished skin betrayed the tough appearance his puffed chest and set jaw were trying to portray.  Dr. Parkinson paused and ceased the drumming of his fingers; having apparently realized that the happy hunky-dory approach that usually worked with all types of patients was not going to work on him.

 

“Anthony?” The doctor prodded.

 

“I want to see her.” Tony said quietly with as much balance as his wavering voice could muster. She had looked so small… He ground his teeth together stubbornly, both in defiance and to hide the grimace of pain as the doctor’s eyebrows knitted in frustration.

 

“Anthony. We already talked about this.” Dr. Parkinson reprimanded as if he were talking to a young child. The other agent, Joseph Keller, coughed awkwardly in the corner. The physiotherapist had not seen the massive altercation between Marlens, Dr. Stedman, and the brown haired agents, but he’d heard it. Then he had seen the fight go out of the brown-haired man’s eyes when he’d been wheeled around the corner by Dr. Stedman and the other agent, to weak to fight those who were helping him any longer.

 

“Your friend right? The one in the car accident with you? She’s right down the hall. It’s just that you both need rest and time to recuperate-”

 

“No! You don’t understand.” Tony protested, with nowhere near as much vehemence. Lies he wanted to say. He had turned down too many white walls and too many white corners, for her to just be a “right down the hall.” Yet his hoarse, scratchy voice already sounded defeated, he already knew he was going to lose this argument. “He’s going to- He’s going- The guy they left her with-“

 

“Look. I can go check on her if you want, make sure Director Marlens isn’t overstepping his bounds, but you have to understand it’s a government mandated session. Big Brother is going to talk to her whether you want them to or not.” Keller offered from his post near the entrance, the supposedly outspoken man was obviously anxious to escape. Tony gave a jerky, watery-eyed nod in approval, but before the other NCIS agent could make his move the physiotherapist interrupted him.  

 

“No I need you to stay here. I might need your help getting him onto the table.” Dr. Parkinson instructed.

 

“No! No… I can do it!” Tony insisted fervently. He was a Dinozzo. Dinozzo’s were strong, not weak. They could do things for themselves. “Just go I got-“

 

Tony cut his words off with a sharp cry of pain as he rocked himself to the balls of his feet and attempted to stand up. The sharp familiar sensation, he hoped never to feel again, intensified drastically sending wave upon wave of needle prick agony through his body. Since they’d been rescued, Tony had taken special care not to bother his leg injury; so he was not prepared for the pain that over took him now. Tears sprung to his eyes as he struggled to suppress the groan that threatened to escape his mouth. _Gah!_ Almost immediately, his muscles tensed painfully sending miniature shock waves down the nerves in his legs and his knees buckle as they fail to support his weight. Suddenly, hands are on him supporting his back and holding his shoulders as they try to stabilize him. Tony jerks forward away from the unwelcome touch and onto the hospital cot.

 

“Don’t touch me!” He hissed. The look of surprise on both the doctor’s and Joseph’s faces forced him to recant the harshness of the statement. “I’m sorry… just please don’t touch me. C-can, can you j-just go check on her!”

 

Dr. Parkinson gave a grim smile and nodded, but Tony can see the question marks in his eyes. Joseph Keller nodded and stepped away from the table retreating back to entrance and disappeared out of the door.

 

“Your friend is going to be fine.” The doctor placated and then whistled under his breath. “This must have been some crash.”

 

“Must have been.” Tony quietly echoed.

 

Doctor Parkinson’s angular, nimble fingers began to ghost over Tony’s leg not touching, but pin pointing the areas of concern.  Then without warning, he dug his fingers into a particularly sensitive spot, just below the grisly wound. The agonizing pain shot past level eleven. The physiotherapist had to hold down tightly onto Tony’s leg as the brown haired agent tried to shove himself away from the pain. The doctor was accustomed to the varying expressions of pain from patients and knew it was best to just shoulder on through. It was relatively easy to hold on to him, however, due to the brown-haired man’s punitive form. The doctor frowned inwardly, such small muscle mass and scrawny demeanors were not typical of individuals who worked in security. They were usually stronger and beefier, due to the rigorous training and physical necessities required of them. This patient, however, had next to no muscle mass. There was evidence of strength once before, tight scrawny muscles that pulled tightly over his arms and legs, but they were seemingly bereft of power. The brunette’s long, dry flaky hair and red sores covering his arms was also indicative of malnutrition. This man smaller and weaker than any of the patients he’d treated in years. And even then it was from abuse victims. What kind of car crash had this been?

 

Tony’s haunted eyes flashed with anger momentarily, above all the pain and despair, but just as quickly it was gone. The dark, obtrusive cloud reappeared, weighing down on him like a wet blanket. Minutes passed as the physiotherapist began systematically working through Tony’s sore muscles in silence, having realized that his patient wasn’t open to any small talk. Silence except for the upbeat, overzealous 90s songs that played in the background. Tony in the meantime forced his head back on the cot as he tried to control his labored breathing; grimacing each time the doctor touched any area that was too sensitive.

 

The doorknob twisted suddenly, while the doctor only raised his eyebrows in mere surprise, Tony shifted nervously on the table as his heartbeat skyrocketed. His knuckles turned white against the table as he watched his captor stride through the door. Alakaso. The crooked gleam of sharp teeth, still white, even when blood poured from the grievous head wound in rivulets down his face. How had he… Crimson stained his shirt, his pants, his hair, yet the bastard was still smiling. Grinning sadistically as he lumbered in and ignorant of the red footprints behind him. Tony froze, petrified in fear, but Alakaso just stood there unblinkingly, smirking at the agony Tony was trying to work himself through.

 

“Keller? Back so soon?” the distant voice of the doctor questioned without looking up from his work. Keller? That wasn’t Keller that was a-. Tony winced as the physiotherapist hit another tender muscle. The pain, however, paled in comparison to the feelings of uncertainty and confusion that threatened to overwhelm him

when his captor disappeared from sight. Tony blinked. Alakaso was gone. As were the bloody footprints and the crimson garb.  It was, in fact, Keller letting himself back into the room. Tony shuddered and tried to calm his racing heartbeat. Tony blew out a long, drawn out breath, taking a moment to slip his mask back into place. Gibbs had killed him. Alakaso was dead. Gibbs had killed him so Alakaso was dead. He was back and he was safe. And Bishop was too. Alakaso was dead. Dead.

 

“Yes sir. They’re still talking. I wasn’t allowed in, but everything seemed fine.” Keller informed as he settled himself back down in his corner.

 

Tony’s teeth snapped together as he choked down the retorts. Now that the fear had dissipated, the anger and crippling gloom had returned. How would he know if she was fine, he thought cynically? He hadn’t seen her. Not really. He barely knew her. The beach blonde, carbon copy of Tony before… this… could not possibly know anything. He got the distinct feeling that; he wasn’t going to get a descent answer to any of the questioned. So he aimed for the safer questions.

 

“Who are you talking too?” he asked groggily, motioning to the cellphone that seemed permanently attached to his hands.

 

“The boss man.” Keller answered, flashing him an easy, nervous smile. Gibbs. Tony  thought fleetingly. _“_ Official business so he’s out of town. I’m supposed to be keeping tabs. He’s asking how you’re feeling if it makes you feel any better.”

 

It didn’t.  Everyone was always asking him if he was okay in some sort of way. All while looking down on him with looks of pity. It made him feel self-deprecating. Especially coming from his subordinate, who couldn’t be bothered to stay for more than a couple of hours, after they’d gone so far to complete the case. A mixture of melancholy and regret flooded his heart as he thought about the man who had served as a father figure to him for the past several years. It had become abundantly clear that his real father wasn’t coming. Not even going to call, but Gibbs… He vaguely remembered the recurring nightmares he’d had within the confines of the cell. The ones with everyone yelling at him, screaming at him, to do something. The one where everyone, one by one, turned his or her backs on him and walked away. He distinctly remembered Gibbs, in the center of the incoherent roar of voices, his disappointed gaze, and the soul crushing moment when he turned away. That had been a dream. A nightmare really. Gibbs wouldn’t do that in real life would he? Surely, Tony hadn’t disappointed him that badly. _Have each others backs_ , Gibbs had told the senior supervisory agent. He had certainly failed at that.

 

“They’ve got a case.” The blonde elaborated vaguely, when he saw the question marks and disappointment written across of his face. The wet blanket of gloom felt smothering and weighed heavily upon him like a storm cloud. Of course they had a case. They always had a case.

 

“It’s yours.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------

 

Location: NSA Headquarters, Fort George G. Meade, Maryland

 

 

“What the hell is the meaning of this Agent Gibbs?” the head of NSA’s International Affairs Division, Henry Mathyk, demanded formidably. Six foot four with a deep baritone and commanding posture, Mathyk had a physically imposing demeanor that exuded strength and power. Decades spent overseas in the military as part of various military excursions had shaped his skills and developed his aptitude for both international relations and military affairs. His hardened history granted valuable experience that approved essential in many agencies, once he’d retired from the military. Known for his meticulous manner, he had garnered a reputation for someone not to be messed with until the job was completed. Everything he did was done extensively and with purpose. Age had not impacted his ability. Pushing seventy, his extensive experience only sharpened his aptitude. He was a rare commodity in the military business. The ability to care and still complete the job effectively was often difficult, especially after decades in the service. Mathyk was a good man and Gibbs respected him for that, but it also meant he was going to get answered.

 

The director of International Affairs was not happy about being interrupted during his lunch break, but Gibbs did not care. Nor did he cringe under the man’s debilitating glare, anger brewed in the marine’s piercing blue eyes leveled with Mathyk’s intense brown ones, as each man of power asserted their position. He was not angry with Mathyk. Not yet anyways. No. His jaw clenched in fury from the videos McGee and the rest of the analysts had found. The videos that only skimmed the surface of what atrocities two of his best agents faced. The atrocities that left Bishop violated, traumatized, and a shivering wreck. The atrocities that left Tony weakened and angry with anyone who dared to help him. The atrocities that left Jake Malloy dead. Gibbs knew Mathyk would have answers. The NSA knew everything. The anger bubbled to the surface as it motivated the retired marine’s actions

 

“You’re going to tell me, what in the hell Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3 is!” Gibbs demanded slamming his palms on the oak wood rosary table. Mathyk remained unflinchingly stoic, only his eyes narrowed as he regarded the NCIS agent in front of him.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The director of International Affairs replied evenly, steadily keeping eye contact with the marine. His demeanor was to calm, to nonchalant, Gibbs knew he was lying, and that angered him further.

 

“Don’t feed me that bullshit, Mathyk! My agents were taken during a case and shipped all the way to fucking Columbia for their own individual torture sessions. So don’t you dare tell me it was about nothing. We have video confirmation of such existence from known terrorist organizations. The FARC were discussing this on camera like it was their fucking anthem.” Gibbs voice rose as he dropped the files on the table.

 

It was the only tangible item; he’d been able to bring in to the room. His gun, NCIS credentials, and USB had all been left behind as part of the NSA’s strict security protocol. Hardcopy evidence was the only means of getting the information in the building, though Mathyk had probably already seen it. Or at the very least heard about it. Agent Marlens had been very clear about the NSA’s interest and subsequent involvement in the case. Yet as Vance had admitted before, directors were often focused on the big picture and the little details of every case had a habit of getting past them.  The director looked skeptically at the files in front of him, his rigid stance displaying his impatience, but he didn’t say a word as Gibbs began flipping through the files.

 

“These men.” Gibbs pointed harshly at the grainy file images of some of the men involved in the whole ordeal. “Alakaso Chavez. Alberto Apoloño. Jacobo Areñas. Enrique Mañalac. These men were trusted members of the Colombian Military. In various high ranking positions, close to the General, with friends in high places. Each one also has extensive discipline reports, noted suspensions, and excessive planning.”

 

“Agent Gibbs-“ Director Mathyk tried to interrupt, but Gibbs continued over him as he yanked more fragile papery sheets out of the brown folder.

 

“These are my agents.” Gibbs growled tossing Tony and Bishop’s NCIS identification photos onto the desk in front of the man. Two sets of pearly white teeth and sparkling eyes radiated off the picture, portraying the youth and vibrantness that had exuded from his agents’ personalities before the entire ordeal. The ordeal that wasn’t even close to being over. He laid down one additional photo next to the ID photos strewn on the table. The grainy photo shot taken by one of the FARC militia members at some point during their capture. Taken relatively early in their capture, it seemingly resembled a ransom photo. His agents stood, bound, bruised and bloody, against a brick wall gazing unsmilingly in the general direction of the camera. The vibrant, innocence in Bishop’s eyes completely absent. The confident, easygoing demeanor of Tony, all but gone. A stark contrast against the previous photos.

 

“And this are only some of the extent of what was done to them. Knives. Brandings. Beatings. Those men took part in or were in some way responsible for the _torture_ of my agents. Those men and many more unidentified sons of bitches in the FARC and within the organization.”

 

The director of International affairs cast his narrowed eyes down at the images of the photos, his mouth twisting in disgust at the state of the agents in the photos, but still he said nothing.

 

“Up until the recently, the General turned a blind eye, but now that things have come to light. These three have been into custody.” Gibbs growled, barely concealed his anger. Those men would have been castrated if he had gotten his hands on them. He jutted his thumbs towards Alakaso’s sadistic smile. “And this bastard is dead! But they were asking my agents about one thing.  Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3. The FARC isn’t known for taking prisoners. They’re all about making a statement. Car bombings, chemical gas attacks, assassinations, but not prisoners. This Project seemed to be pretty important to keep two NCIS agents around for so long.”

 

“Look Agent Gibbs. There’s nothing I can say.” Director Mathyk interrupted him evenly, still looking down warily at the photographs. “Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3 doesn’t exist. Even if it did exist, such projects would contain classified information. Classified information that I’m not at liberty to divulge!”  

 

“I have two agents in the hospital! They were taken and tortured for thirty-seven days in a remote location in Columbia! Stab wounds. Cigar burns. Drug abuse. Now they’re facing weeks of recovery, with the several of the perpetrators still out there. Your lawyer is dead, gunned down by the same men responsible for the kidnapping as well as two service men who will never be able to see their families again, because the NSA is too goddamn stubborn to _divulge_ in some critical information!”

 

Mathyk sighed and rubbed his temple. A glimmer of sympathy flashed behind his usual icy eyes. Mathyk had lost men too. Good men. Men who didn’t deserve to die in pointless battles at the hands of bullets, grenades, and landmines, when they had families and friends waiting on them at home. That meant the director would understand where Gibbs was coming from and eventually relate.

 

“Now a military lieutenant and three of his buddies couldn’t possibly know about any of these top secrets NSA projects. Not with this Fort Knox security. Meaning there are more people involved. The NSA and NCIS are supposed to be working on this project together Henry. We can’t do our jobs, if you don’t give us all of the information.”

 

“You’ve made a very convincing argument, Agent Gibbs.” The director of International Affairs murmured and he scrutinized the photos for another long moment. “What I say to you now, only stays between me, you and Vance and the rest of your team. No one else. Otherwise, I will put you in a hole, and get rid of the hole. Understood?” Maythk demanded firmly. Gibbs nodded in silence. The older man sat down slowly in the burgundy leather, rolling chair behind him, rubbing his temple as he contemplated what to say. At last he looked up.

 

“It started out as a sniff and search program.” Mathyk began. “The goal was to organize some of our best analysts, engineers, and lawyers and utilize their collective capabilities to analyze "transactional" data that we regularly acquired from other government agencies, which gather it under their own jurisdictional authorities, to create data profiles of high-ranking officials within the political, military, and governmental realms. As part of this effort, this team would monitor and compile huge volumes of records of email data, web addresses from Internet searches, stock purchases, bank transfers, credit-card transactions, travel records, telephone data, and a lot of other meta data. Through this hypothetically compiled information, the NSA would be able to pick out trends and behaviors within leaders in their fields.”

 

“A digital behavior prediction analyzer.” Gibbs commented under his breath..

 

“ Correct. It would use this data to create various scenarios and hypothetically predict how they would react in a situation and so on…”

 

“Hypothetical?” Gibbs questioned.

 

“The program never got past its planning stages. The officiating committee deemed it to risky and a violation of human rights, especially after the Mark Klein controversy. Agent Bishop wasn’t even involved at that point; I think she was just starting out around that time. A few years passed and by that time the controversy tampered over and the officiating committee acquired new members. The sniff and search program would have been forgotten about, swept under the rug. Even I had forgotten about it to an extent. But someone found it. Thought it was a fantastic idea. But they didn’t send it back to the original project leaders.” Mathyk paused, gazing off into the distance as if he were remembering the scene in present time. His mouth twisted to a grimace of disgust.

 

“The powers that be got control of the program and quickly found a military application for it. They realized they could intercept the communications of thousands of worldwide individuals and track the movement of hundreds of the United States political allies and enemies.”

 

“Apply the behavior prediction analysis to military excursion.” Gibbs breathed.

 

“Exactly. Except it was high-risk. Through this espionage, we would be exposing thousands of classified governmental information from hundreds of countries, including volatile, unstable ones. Not to mention breaking several laws and international treaties. If the information should ever get in the wrong hands, they would have the blue prints for the dismantling of other world powers and the blame would be traced back to us.” he trailed off. Director Mathyk eyes went back to the gritty images of the four men they’d been able to capture.

 

“Others thought this too. Except they thought the program was too big of a high-payoff to disregard, so they kept the program clandestine. I mean, this was a program where it’s fundamental research initiatives reached across a broad spectrum of political and engineering disciplines. It had the ability to reshape existing fields and create entirely new methods of military invasion. Transform these initiatives into radically new, game-changing technologies for U.S. national security. The only reason I continued to get wind of the program was because they asked me for my best analyst.”

 

“Bishop.” The grey haired marine stated flatly. His youngest agent always seemed to have the middle of these controversies. The director nodded.

 

“They insisted the project would have the appropriate protocols. A bunch of fail-safes were probably set in place to validate that everything would be confidential and under lock and key. But things got complicated. And when things get complicated, protecting all aspects of the project becomes complicated as well. When Bishop left for NCIS, I assumed the entire thing had been shut down. Can’t fulfill a four-key cipher, if one of them was gone…”

 

“Yeah? Well, now she’s the only one left standing.”

 

**Hey guys. Sorry for the late update. I honestly had half of this written and then kept reworking it and reworking it and reworking it. Then life got in the way, and before I knew it was two months later, but I did finish my first college application! Anyways, back to the story.**

**So for those of you who suspected Marlens, you were right! He does have some ulterior motives, but what are they?**

**Bishop’s developing anxiety while Tony’s beginning to withdraw as depression sets in, but both are dealing with crippling guilt over what happened. Gibbs is investing so much time in figuring out what the hell is going on, that he ends up unintentionally neglecting those who need him most.**

**Advice, predictions, criticisms, suggested plotlines? I’ll try to get my posting under control.**


	15. Chapter 15

Six days later…

Bishop’s POV

It’s your fault…

The blonde agent’s eyes snapped open, a scream caught in her throat, as she looked frantically around her at the unfamiliar setting. Where was she? The vestiges of the nightmare rip away at the semblance of safety she’d managed to gather. As her vision adjusted she realized she was still in the hospital room. She was still curled up back against the wall facing the door. She was still wrapped up in countless bandages. Keller snored softly from the chair in corner. Good. She was still here. The nightmare hadn’t been real, she hadn’t been dragged back. She was still here. Bishop relaxed slightly and her injured ribs flared up in pain. Still raw, like someone had torn apart her insides. She clutched her injured cast-wrapped arm to her chest, trying to alleviate some of the pain. It did next to nothing. Per usual. So she shifted her empty gaze towards the patterns on the stained hospital walls and focused on Keller’s soft snores; concentrating on the steady in and out, willing her rapidly beating heartbeat to follow the same pace. In and out. The clock read a quarter past four. In and out. She was still here.

Torture screwed with the psyche; screwed with the essence that makes a person human; screwed with a person's sense of morality. She'd worked with the government, both with the NSA and NCIS, long enough to see it with her own eyes. Long enough to witness the fair share of broken criminals in those damning case files that started out as good men, but then turned around and destroyed the very morals they were raised upon. She’d seen the men either become the monsters, lost in the struggle between what was real and what was not; or become the casualties and crack and break like fine china hitting a tiled floor. She’d sworn in the beginning, when they were taken, she wasn't going to let herself become those things—weak, inhuman… fragile. The only girl in family full of men, she’d sworn she wouldn’t be a damsel in distress. She wouldn’t need anyone to save her. Then she’d learnt quickly that saying and doing were two different things. Yet it was the damsel mentality that had gotten her held hostage and it was the damsel mentality that had taken Tony with her. And now, she’s been through more than enough to live what she had learned. And ironically, Ellie now felt she was all of those things— weak, inhuman… fragile. Trembling on the hospital bed, she could barely hold herself together. She was weak. She weak and she knew it, but she couldn’t let them see. She couldn't go back. There was no going back to what used to be. So she stopped talking, as if that would hide the pain.

As the time ebbed by while Bishop remained in place, she came to the horrific realization that she never meant to survive it. Somewhere along the way she expected to disappear, vanish or succumb like so many others undoubtedly had before her. In a burst of bloody spray. With the oxygen ripped away from her by the hand pushing her in the water. By the crowbar... But she didn't. Somehow she survived the ordeal and didn't give anything up to Alakaso in his men. Even when they grew stimulated and impatient. She had survived and she was safe. That’s what everyone kept saying. She survived. But for the former NSA analyst, it didn’t really feel like there was a degree of truth to what they were saying. Safe, after all, was the word the men said the first ‘rescue’. They said that she was safe that everything was going to be okay. Then a wiry man with thick glasses had asked her a bunch of questions, took a couple of photographs, then filed fine notes with nifty forms that boxed her in and left. Left her alone. Caged like an animal, strapped to a bed staring at a water stained ceiling with glazed eyes that wouldn’t focus on anything and a body that wouldn’t cooperate. Completely alone. Except when Alakaso began making his nightly… his nightly visits. Even then, the screams that escaped her throat always fell on deaf ears. The screams that still rang in her ear, even when they’d ceased long ago. And now she felt more alone then ever.

You deserved it… a voice whispered. She deserved everything she had coming toward her. It was her fault after all. The dark pit of guilt and grief that rested in her gut felt like a nest of vipers, sinking their poisoned teeth into her flesh with every electronic beep of the medical machines that determined her degree of liveliness. Had she not run ahead in the first place, they wouldn’t have been put in this situation. Had she just given them the information, Tony wouldn’t have been so critically injured and decrepit in the room down the hall from her. Had she just listened to what Alakaso said, Jake would have still been alive. It’s all your fault…

They have her on a cocktail of drugs, having upped the dose since they found her trembling and unresponsive a couple of days ago. Bishop’s not entirely sure what they’re supposed to do, but she despised them. The morphine made Bishop’s brain fuzzy and uncooperative, which by default made the rest of her battered body feel numb and disobliging. She felt constantly stuck with this floating sensation. It felt like she was trapped in the peaceful abyss of unconsciousness that she had longed achingly for when she had been locked up in the cell, but at the same time she was wide awake. This abyss that took away all the pain, all the worries, and all the fear, but it also took away her control. And she needed that control, no matter how little. The only thing abyss the floating sensation was good for was the prolonged disassociation from herself. The abyss separated her from reality, like a brain with no body and forced her to drift back into the world she had become used too. The one where she’s supposed to be quiet. The one where she isn’t supposed to be saying anything. 

But even then, the abyss, that she had now realized since she entered days ago, was nowhere near as comfortable and welcoming as she had expected it to be. Because the drugs only worked so much. They only hid the pain, never vanquished it. Because the words were easy to keep in, but the memories were impossible to keep at bay. They built up in her mind, bombarded her, making everything feel more frenzied and erratic. So in the moments of lucidness, when she remembered that everything that happened was real, it was terrifying. She can hear Tony’s hoarse screams echo off the confines of the hospital room. She can smell the searing, burnt skin that bubbled underneath the crowbar. She can feel Alakaso’s meaty hand at the base of her neck forcing her down against the duvet. Bishop sat in her hospital bed quaking in silence, trying to convince herself that while this had happened, it was not happening. She would focus on the parking lot and remind herself that she was home, but even that word felt foreign and it was almost always to no avail. Then, more often than not, a nurse would help her remember with some medical motivation.

In World War One, they called it shell shock. Second time around, they called it battle fatigue. After Vietnam, it was post-traumatic stress disorder. Somewhere deep within the vestiges of her mind she remembered reading about that in her university library over a bowl of ramen. She probably had it. It was why those who knew about the circumstance that had gotten them here wouldn’t go away. Those people, one by one, entering, poking, prodding, asked her if she felt safe. Bishop hadn’t responded to any of them, only continued to stare out the window forlornly, not even bothering to wipe the tears streaming down her face. They had her in a room with a starched bed with a single starched blanket, a faded blue armchair with the cushion sewn down, open cubbies for storage, thick glass windows overlooking the parking lot, water stained wallpaper, and a tiny television screen bolted in behind a Plexiglas shield. To her it’s just a different kind of prison. 

“So my question is how did both of you survive? You aren’t a field agent Bishop, you never were. Your job was behind a computer. An analyst. And nothing else. There really isn’t a reason he would have kept the both of you alive….”

Marlens’s words rang loudly in her mind and she can’t stop thinking about it. How right he was… A wave of unsettling anxiety swept over her; unwarranted and unwanted, but she was unable to push it away. Bringing with it memories she didn’t want to remember. It was wearisome. She was always the one who was able to remember things. They praised her for her memory, prided her for it. Her entire career had revolved around her ability to remember and connect. Now nothing made sense. She couldn’t connect the dots to anything. She couldn’t figure out the why, only the what. Bishop couldn’t feel what she was like before that room. She remembered them. On occasions she dreamed, the only time he could catch glimpses of the life she'd lived before this. The days when mud wrestling was innocent trouble-making with her brothers and the kids of the neighborhood; the days when exchanging banter was toward her teammates and not herself; the days when her smile was real and not forced. Only she couldn’t connect the feelings and emotions that she knew were supposed to be there, instead she relived the ones from that room. Over and over again. She knew what she had to do. Reset. Start over, but she can’t. It’s not working. 

Do you know how much blood is on you hands? Her former boss had questioned. Two police officers are dead. Three more agents with families. Tony. Shinyee, Jonathan, Devon. J-Jake! Tears sprang to her eyes and she had to bite her knuckles to keep them from falling. The room felt suffocating and the walls closed in as Bishop battled with her mind. The analog clock ticked loudly like a pipe bomb; the sound of Keller’s snores droned loudly like jet engines. Suddenly everything was too loud and too close. She bit down harder. “You were ready to sacrifice the security of this nation. No one’s going to believe you.” And no one was. Not Gibbs. Not Tony. Not General Mathyk. She had so much blood on her hands. So much that couldn’t even begin to fathom how she would wipe them all clean. She couldn’t even tell Marlens, her former boss, the truth. Why had she lied? It made no sense, but she had done it. Out of instinct, out of trust… Why? Now the only person who claimed wouldn’t be mad at her, surely would be now. Why had she lied? It’s all your fault. The taste of copper, no blood, filled her mouth and Bishop realized she’d bitten through flesh by biting so hard.

They said she could watch TV, but she never really watched. They said she could see Tony, but she was certain he didn’t actually want to see her anymore. No one should want to see her. When she’s this weak, this dirty… She’s a murderer and a liar. Why couldn’t she stop lying? Bishop was trembling now; her composure was shattering before her very eyes. It felt like an elephant was sitting on her chest as she struggled to breathe normally. Breathe. Breathe. The anxiety swirled within her like a hurricane. A loud screech of metal, interrupted her crowded thoughts, and sent her scrambling for the corner again even when the pain of everything protested against it. It was only Joseph, slowly blinking himself awake in the armchair. Bishop shoved her bloodied knuckle underneath the sheet and set her face in a purposefully neutral expression, even when the emotions ripped away at her on the inside. She can’t let Alakaso; no… she can’t let Keller see her hands. Because then he’s going to put his hands on her. He’s going to… He’s going to… No. No! The tears threaten to fall as she remembered.

It was morning now. Half past six. The purple dawn had already been pushed apart by the yellow rising sun, but Bishop doesn’t feel the warmth. Instead she wanted to shy away from it. She winced as Keller stretched in his chair, admitting a loud yawn. He was fully awake now as he briefly looked down at his phone to check the time. The blonde man cast a furtive glance up at her and when he did Bishop saw Alakaso’s beady eyes. She blinked again and suddenly he was holding a knife. Another blink and it was all gone. Gah. Nothing was making sense.

“I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be right back okay?” Keller said tautly as he lumbered up from the guest seat. He paused for a moment, but since she hadn’t said anything voluntarily in the last few days, he quickly turned and hastily made an exit. Bishop stared forlornly at the door closing behind him, and the room quieted again. But it was still so loud, even as she sat alone with her thoughts. The clock sounded like a bell tower. The electronic beeps of the machine are deafening. She saw Jake’s quirky grin. Tony’s bloodied face. Sahud’s milky eye. The pent up feelings were brimming at the surface, packed so tightly and threatening to explode. Breathe. Breathe.

You’re fine. You’re fine. You’re fine. Bishop repeated the mantra incessantly in her mind, forcing herself to take deep steady breaths, but the thumping of her heart refused to slow down. Fine. Fine. Fine. Her brain felt as if it were shutting down. She felt clammy and could feel the glisten of cold sweat inching down her back. Her eyes were wide, but everything was blurry. Trapped in her own psychosis, a living nightmare, for one, tailor-made by her own brain to remind her of her deepest fears. Yet what she saw, what she felt, no one else could see.

Her arms were throbbing and she could see a blurred red, but she can’t think straight enough to consider where it came from. It was all her fault.

McGee’s POV

Prior events considered, somewhere along the lines, things had definitely taken a turn for the worst. Timothy McGee could not precisely pinpoint when things started going wrong. He hadn’t been in the thick of things not nearly enough. Juggling the time between the hospital, the office, and the phone with Delilah had become increasingly difficult. He had found out quickly that concentration on one meant the certain suffering of the others. The lack of control Tim had over everything was very frustrating. Before… Before all of this, Tim had prided himself in being the most responsible member, Gibbs exempt, among the group. At the desk early each morning. Work turned in on time at the end of each night. While Tony occasionally rushed to finish the files he’d saved for the last minute and Bishop made the usual rookie mistakes, Tim managed to avoid his boss’s head slaps and keep everything like clockwork. Even on the tough cases, somehow, as a team, they’d made everything work. Like a pseudo-family, they had managed to keep everything went smoothly, except for the occasional case that went overtime. Except the occasional case like this one. In the last three months, all of that seemed to go to hell. Now everything was flipped on its side and McGee had zero control over anything.

The MIT educated NCIS agent ran a hand through his slightly greasy, uncut hair. He needed a haircut… and a proper shave; both rituals had become sporadic in recent events. He’d never had the time. Tim stifled a yawn as he gazed disdainfully at the cordless phone in front of him, almost hidden amongst the mounds of casework and coffee stained paper cups, with bloodshot eyes. No longer was he to go out into the field, not even as a consultant. Now it was strictly paperwork. Paperwork and whatever Eric Beñet sent him. It was Director Leon Vance’s doing. Vance had withdrawn most of Tim’s work responsibilities, under the pretense of reorganizing staff obligations, knowing McGee wouldn’t have sat back and admitted he wasn’t at 100%. Vance also knew McGee wasn’t the type to have someone else do the job for him. It seemed to be a McGee thing; Sarah had been the exact same way. Admittedly, Tim had thrown himself at the work. Anything to keep his mind off of his two friends in the hospital. Anything to bring these perpetrators to justice. But Tim was just a man and exhaustion always caught up to a man. But that phone call was not the break that McGee so desperately needed.

Tim didn’t understand. He wasn’t stupid. Bishop and Tony were in the hospital and they would most likely be in there for a while. An ordeal like that was guaranteed to keep anyone down for the count. The physical scars ran deep; the emotional ones ran even deeper. McGee still felt sick thinking about the sheer amount of crimson that had swathed the medical room in Colombia. Both of his friends still wore the pain and trauma like blankets, and would probably carry the fear with them for the rest of their lives. Yet, they had been healing. He’d seen it with his own eyes. Tony had been in physical therapy, slowly getting mobility of his stab wound inflicted leg. Bishop’s seizures had mellowed out. Even the doctors had become increasingly optimistic. Though both agents were jumpy, agitated, and irritable on a good day, both had been making the broadest definition of progress. Then somewhere along the line, something happened. He didn’t know what. He hadn’t been there, but something must have happened. Because now Bishop wasn’t speaking at all nor was she cooperating with anything the doctors and nurses said. The therapist, something Jaspers, suggested it was some kind of self induced psychosis. Her way of trying to compensate or atone... That defense mechanism or something… But as far as McGee knew, there was nothing Ellie needed to defend herself from Whatever it was, she wouldn’t do anything or even look anyone in the eye and it was negatively impacting her recovering. Her psychosis ended up throwing Tony into a bender as well. After days of asking to see Bishop, Dinozzo couldn’t seem to understand why Bishop wouldn’t talk to him. Tony being Tony, had seemingly convinced himself that whatever was going on with Bishop was somehow his fault. Then proceeded to lash out at anyone who tried to convince him otherwise. No matter how much they tried.

Now the hospital had called, threatening to send Bishop to the psychiatric ward and have Tony forcibly restrained. And although NCIS and Gibbs had tried to preserve the details of what had landed the two agents in the hospital in the first place by only telling a select few doctors of the ordeal. For the first time, it had become abundantly clear that that was not the right decision because it meant that the rest of the hospital would not be able to adequately help. And although, Tim knew it wasn’t in anyone’s best interest to restrain Tony against his bed no matter how soft the restraints were or send Bishop to some godforsaken isolation room. He had no control over what the medical professionals thought what was right for his friends whose minds weren’t working well enough to differentiate what was for their own good and what was there to harm. So McGee, in better interest, had told Keller on the other end of the phone to tell the medics the details and demanded that they not do anything until either he or Gibbs arrived. That phone call had ended twenty minutes ago and he still hadn’t worked up the courage to get up from his desk.

NCIS agents milled about the office area, oblivious to McGee’s internal struggle. They laugh over cooling cups of coffee, tap away on keyboards, and answer the cordless phones on their desks as if it were just another workday. Just another nine to five job. He catches Alex Clevenger’s eyes across the room, the redhead quirking her brow in acknowledgement with just a glimmer of sympathy visible in her striking green irises, and he knew that she ha heard everything and was probably judging him for not leaving immediately. How did you help people who didn’t want to be helped? Of course Delilah had been understanding, even when their relationship had become strained over the ordeal, and for that he was grateful, but it wasn’t nearly enough. 

He shifted his gaze back towards the files. Now that the Colombian military had actually been looking for inaccuracies and shiftiness among its ranks, information was sprouting like weeds. Information was piling up; further exposing the web of lies and deceit Alakaso had conjured up. Yet the more he looked at it, the more evidence pointed away from Alakaso being the mastermind, but there was no other feasible individuals that could adequately carry out this plan either. NCIS had yet to figure out who was bankrolling this entire operation and until then, it meant they had no paper trail. No one to trace evidence back towards. Which meant they had nothing. That bothered him more than he would like to admit. The frustratingly slow pace exemplified how bad they’d all been at their jobs lately. Right now, it was Colombia, spoon-feeding NCIS information about Alakaso and his buddies. It was Colombia who was preparing to put these traitors on trial. It was Colombia who was making the United States look like the village idiot. They hadn’t even found Tony and Bishop on their own, two massive governmental organizations and nationwide media coverage, yet Colombia was the one that had ‘found’ them. Gibbs was gone. After he’d come back from Maryland after finding out more about Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3, the file that Tony and Bishop had been ruthlessly tortured for, he was talking with some connections. Mentions of the name were starting to appear within these files and it left a heavy feeling in his heart knowing that he would eventually have to question Tony and Ellie about the events that happened in Colombia concerning the project. Tim pushed himself numbly from the desk grabbing his car keys. 

McGee didn’t know what he was expecting when he pulled into the parking lot of Inova Fairfax Hospital. From the frantic stammering of Keller, he’d expected chaos, but as he exited his car and made for the floor Tony and Bishop were residing on, he was struck by the normalcy of it all. The long stretching hallways of white, antiseptic smelling walls. The usual patients. The sullen kids with broken arms. The elderly man inching along with his IV drip. The doctors in blue scrubs congregating next to a chart. An unconscious man being wheeled to some surgery, with his wife, or sister, or whoever she was, following anxiously behind. A bored looking receptionist clicking in patient information. The receptionist waved him on through.

He rushed towards Bishop’s hospital room, only to find out it was empty. For a second, he thought he’d gotten the wrong room. There were no signs of anyone having ever been there. No sheets were on the bed. None of the daunting machines were turned on. A young African American man in yellow scrubs, an orderly, he presumed, stooped over in the center mopping something reddish on the floor. McGee started for the door, checking the room number, but already assuming the worst. He swallowed the lump of denial, knowing he was already in the right place because the flowers Ducky had brought in the other day were still there. Wilting, but still there. 

“You looking for the chick?” the orderly asked in a rough, smoker’s drawl. The dark skinned grinned wildly at McGee who could only nod dumbly in response, revealing a set of rotting, golden spotted teeth..

“You missed it man. The girl went batshit insane!” the man snickered as if it were the funniest thing in the world, but McGee was to focused on finding out what happened to get angry at the man.

“What happe- Where did they take her?” McGee stuttered out, words tripping over each other, unable to decided which was the more important question. Inwardly, Tim wished Gibbs, who was able to exude much more power and authority, was here to get answers. It would have been much more efficient. Where the hell was Keller? The dark-skinned orderly shrugged.

“How the fuck should I know? I’m just the orderly. They don’t tell us shit. Best guess is they dragged her to psych. That’s where they take the crazy ones.” The orderly turned back to the reddish puddle, conversation apparently over, and began mopping once more. As if whatever had happened was a daily occurrence. 

Frustrated and nervous, Tim turned back into the hallway anxious to find a nurse or a doctor or someone who actually knew something, and ran straight into Joseph Keller. And now the strapping, forty-something year old man with beach blonde hair, overly attentive blue eyes, and the looks and exuberance of someone in his twenties appears to McGee in exactly the opposite way. Keller looked haggard and frazzled, two qualities that did not fit the usual self-assured, but serious man. His black tie was loosened, his eyes were wide, a sheen of sweat visible just above his brow. 

“Tim.” Keller started, jumping back in surprise. He shoved his sweaty palms into his pockets, and then quickly pulled them out again, fiddling his thumbs anxiously. “Tim! Where were you! I called you an hour ago!” 

“What happened?” McGee demanded.

“I… I… I only walked away from a minute I swear.” Keller began, immediately jumping to the defensive. McGee’s eyes narrowed, knowing that people immediately jumped to the defensive when trying to justify a wrong-doing. 

 

“What happened?” McGee questioned again.

“I don’t know man. She… Something must have triggered something.” Keller stumbled over his words, becoming more and more flustered. “I swear I only went away for a second!”

“God damn it Keller! Will you just tell me what happened?” McGee’s voice rose.

“She tried to hurt herself. It was bad McGee,” Keller’s final response is strained and McGee knew that whatever happened leading up to these events hadn’t been intentional. Keller sounded genuinely remorseful for his actions. His stomach dropped. He had thought… He had thought they were making progress… McGee knew he would have to call Gibbs to inform him of the news. But not yet… Not yet…

“They transported her to the emergency psychiatric ward, something about an evaluation. I told them everything… They’re insisting that this way is the right way.”

 

Tony’s Point of View  
Dark. It’s dark. An inky dark, like a shade had been dropped down on everything. The darkness doesn’t fade and he realized that he couldn’t see. It’s strange because he did not remember going to sleep and it’s still to dark. He hadn’t been doing a lot of that lately. The furniture, the normal things he would have seen, are invisible, he can’t make out the outlines in this inky dark. He didn’t hear anything either. Just a high pitch ringing tone. Like the one he’d heard when the car bomb went off, but he’s to busy floating to care. He remembered the room spinning. Someone yelling. A whole lot of fast moving lights. But then what? It was puzzling. He blinked.  
There was still something wrong with his vision. It was not inky dark anymore now, there’s light, and shadows, and colors, but they jumbled together and don’t make any sense. Tony tried to lift his arm, clear the murkiness, and he had to fight to lift it. It’s futile, and you’re just... it’s no use. There’s a murmuring now. Like voices speaking in slow motion, but he did not see anyone. He blinked again.  
Artificial light flooded his vision and suddenly he had spectacular of view of white ceiling tiles, then a shadow of a person over takes his vision. Wait what? Tony’s memories suddenly snap back. Alakaso. Sahud. Marlens. Bishop. A split second later the pain hit him. It seared up his spine, across his back, tore at his appendages. Tensing only amplified the sensation. Tears sprang to his eyes, as he tried to pinpoint its exact location. Where, where, where? Where is it coming from? Focus. Where?  
Tony heard a groan. Maybe it was his own, but he could not be sure. The ringing in his ears was too loud. He blinked again, to block out the light and there’s... something. He wanted to reach for his eyes, but there’s something there. Something was wrong. Something was stopping him from moving his arms. Something’s holding him down. A wave a panic and clarity spikes him and he doesn’t feel like he’s in abyss any longer. Tony desperately rocked against the bed trying to free himself from the binds that hold him there. Either he’s too weak or he’s not supposed to be struggling because the ghostly hands push against him further. Bishop. Where was Bishop? He couldn’t see her.  
“Anthony?”  
The voice is distant, unfamiliar and it confused him. The hands press him down further and his unease rose. Why can’t he move his hands? Tony struggled against whatever was holding him down, he needed— he needed to figure out what was going on, he needed to be in control, but what? What did he need to be in control of? He felt confused and disoriented, and confusion- the not knowing- wasn’t something he did well. Not since Alakaso and his torture chamber.   
“Anthony, please hold still.” It’s the doctor, Tony realized. Somehow in the struggle, connecting the name to the face. The tall one with the startling red hair and dark green eyes. Dr. Stedman. Why was Dr. Stedman trying to force him down? Let go of me, he wanted to say, but his mouth doesn’t move. What does come out, is garbled and incorrigible. The hands don’t move either. If anything they push him down further. Tony heard another groan, this time he was sure it was his own. He sucked in a breath, wheezing in pain against the pressure, as he struggled to try again..

“L-let go of me.” He stuttered, feebly bucking against the restraints again.

“Anthony. I will let you go when you calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself if you continue. Do you understand?” Dr. Stedman was calm, but to Tony it sounded calculating, because he doesn’t understand. He just wanted out of these restraints.

“Where is she?” His voice sounded strangely ragged.

“Anthony. We’ve been over this. She’s right down the hall. Please stop struggling, you’re making it worse.” Dr. Stedman repeated with a forced composure. 

Down the hall? Tony relaxed slightly, that makes sense, in a certain kind of way. Down the hall. So far away… But she doesn’t want to see you. He remembered the nurses telling him that. And he hadn’t understood them either. That bastard had gone in to talk to her and suddenly she didn’t want to talk. What had that bastard done. No. They were at fault too. They just him to talk to her. They don’t….

“Let me go!” he bellowed. A sharp, acute pain shortly followed.

“Shit.” Dr. Stedman muttered, and then there’s another hand. “The stiches tore.” 

It would explain the pain. Everywhere, still everywhere, but... his torso. That’s where it seems to focus, ever radiating. His eyes are shut tightly again.

Dr. Stedman applied more pressure and the pain skyrocketed, there is pressure on his abdomen, and he just— “Anthony,” Dr. Stedman called, his voice not even rising a decibel, “Anthony. Listen to me.”

“Rachel?” the red-haired man called. “Give me a hand, will you?”

Something, no… someone, touched him, pressed down on his arms, keeps them still, but he doesn’t— He doesn’t want that. In fact, Tony’s trying to do the exact opposite, but he’s momentarily distracted by the hot liquid pouring down his chest.

“Ten of morphine?” a female voice questioned. Probably Rachel; the deduction isn’t difficult.

Morphine. No he doesn’t want morphine. He couldn’t think straight with morphine, but he has no control. A pinprick in the crook of his arm, but he still doesn’t want to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see. The pain lessened. Just a fraction. The pressure decreased too, but he knew Dr. Stedman was still there, poking and prodding the reopened wound.  
Why did they tie him up in the first place? His memory is hazy, he doesn’t remember. There was... there was a nurse there. Not Rachel. Some other one. Where was she now? He summoned within him the last bit of energy, and tried to free himself, but the fogginess has already taken its hold. He called out Bishop’s name again. Maybe she can’t hear him; maybe he needed to raise his voice. Then he remembered for the second time she wasn’t in the room with him. Suddenly there’s a palm on his forehead, it’s gloved—probably nitrile, light blue, maybe purple, he guessed as he drifted further—applying pressure gently. “I’ll see if I can find her,” Rachel said and disappeared, somehow that reassured him.  
Tony drifted; he was back in the abyss. Still awake, still conscious, but floating. At some time he must have drifted to sleep because when he opened his eyes again, another familiar voice was arguing in a hushed whisper with the medic. A very distinct voice that was usually accompanied with a glare. Gibbs.

Gibbs POV

“What I want to know is why the hell you’ve got my agent restrained! Against his will!” The silver-haired marine demanded with a glare that could make even the strongest of individuals cower at their feet. He hadn’t been in the office when he received the formal phone call from the hospital, informing them in their matter of fact way that there was an emergency concerning his agents and what they were going to do. He’d been at another government facility chasing down the people that were connected to this Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3, leaving McGee and a couple of analysts to work on deciphering the information from Colombia. The call had been disconcerting, since neither man had received any calls about their health conditions before. Though in hindsight, that was usually because one of the NCIS agents was at the hospital at all times.

The worry had only festered when he stepped out onto the hospital floor, briskly walked to the nurses’ station, and informed that the younger man had been sedated and was now resting in his hospital room. Gibbs had checked his watch, which had read barely past nine. From previous visits, Gibbs had known that Tony was usually awake at time of morning. Although traumatized agent never mentioned it, the dark circle under his eyes told Gibbs all he needed to know. Tony wasn’t sleeping enough. Rarely at all. And it was a little to good to be true for him to be resting now. His worry had turned to anger, when he had entered Tony’s hospital room and seen the bruised and battered man’s forearms tied tightly to the guardrails of the hospital bed. Since the beginning, the marine had vetoed the idea of restraints, having seen the traumatized states his agents had been in. But when he entered the hospital room it was obvious they hadn’t listened.

“These restraints are necessary, Agent Gibbs! Your agent attacked one of our nurses, Jake Holladay, last night. He was admitted to the emergency room with a broken nose. Now I understand the predicament your agents are in and that the post traumatic stress may have been a factor, but you must understand that I take the safety of the hospital and those in it very seriously. Until I can be sure he won’t be a threat to others the restraints have to remain in place.” Dr. Stedman informed him.

Attacked a nurse? Why wasn’t he informed of this sooner. Just behind Dr. Stedman, Gibbs could see Tony begin to stir and almost immediately begin pulling at the restraints again. It pained Gibbs to see Tony, someone who was like a son to him, this way The retired marine forced himself to take a steady calming breath. AS unwilling as he was, he now saw the doctor’s precarious position through his careful reasoning. Yet Gibbs still felt the urge to protest, to somehow release Tony from those bonds.

“If I stay with him and make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone or himself. Will you take the restraints off.” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I can’t take the restraints off. Anthony’s on code grey. He’s dangerous towards himself and towards others, Agent Gibbs. As qualified as you are, I can’t risk it.“ Dr. Stedman rebuffed the retired marine’s request easily, obviously used to patients and their families trying to argue with him. Tony started to become more vocal in the background, but his slurred speech made it evident that he was still very much under the influence of the morphine or whatever drug they had him on.

“Are you kidding with me? He’s drugged out of his mind. He can barely form a coherent sentence. Restraining a man who’s spent weeks being tortured in the exact same way is idiotic. Any psychiatrist will tell you that. The only way to make sure he stays calm is to make sure he is calm. Restraints aren’t going to do that..” Gibbs protested. He watched Dr. Stedman consider the prospects then, after realizing that Gibbs isn’t taking no for an answer, comply.

“You have an hour before you have to leave. Anthony needs rest to recuperate and he hasn’t been sleeping as much as we’d like. If anything violent happens, the restraints go back on. “ Dr. Stedman informed as he loosened the restraints and then quietly and grudgingly leaves the room. Gibbs realized a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. After the restraints were released, Tony had quieted almost immediately.

The retired marine slowly made his way over to Tony’s bedside. His agent still looked small. Though the stubble that had returned to Tony’s face made him look older, it failed to hide the damage that had been inflicted by the cruelty of others. Gibbs could still make out the yellowing bruises and the scars that were surely there to stay. It was obvious he was slightly malnourished, weighing in on the skinny side, but he appeared much healthier than the skeleton of a person that had been admitted some three weeks before. Gibbs sat down beside the younger man, wanting to say something but not knowing what to say. He hadn’t told Tony that there was most likely more to this case than Alakaso. Nor had he told Bishop. They both would need some time to heal and he couldn’t have them worrying about things they couldn’t control. Especially not in this condition. There also was also the presence of a one-sided animosity between the too. Having had experience with war veterans, Gibbs knew that Tony was trying to push people away, but it made conversation much more difficult. So he was surprised when Tony said the first word.

“T-thank you.” Tony whispered haggardly. Gibbs had to strain to hear his whisper. His eyes were still shut and he hadn’t moved his arms from where they’d been strapped in, but Gibbs could tell he was relieved. Gibbs nodded in affirmation, and paused to see if Dinozzo would continue, but neither man said anything further. A few minutes pass in silence and the marine is content to sit in solitude as Dinozzo returned the feeling to his hands, knowing that the morphine was most likely going to prevent any serious conversation from occurring.

“Marlens!” Tony’s sudden drugged, drunken sounding slur, snapped Gibbs back to present. The younger agent jerked upwards, as if he suddenly remembered something really important.

“What about Marlens’s, Dinozzo?” Gibbs questioned, mostly just to keep him talking, to keep him lucid.

“Marlens… It’s his f-fault she w-won’t talk to me.” Tony slurred. Gibbs frowned he’s not following Tony’s string of thought.

“Who Tony?” 

“B- Bis- Bishop!” he gritted out, as if it’s the most obvious thing the world. “Ever… Ever since he t-talked to her, she won’t talk t-to me.?

Gibbs frowned. When in the hell had Marlens’s spoke to Bishop?


End file.
